I could talk about my sense of astonishment at the righteous indignation being expressed by official Russian channels to the Darya Dagina incident. I could talk about my drive to the other side of the big city, how I got trapped in a massive traffic jam on the dual carriageway, and how it disappeared suddenly and mysteriously. I could talk about my fresh appreciation of Shirley Jackson’s literary merit occasioned by a re-reading of some of her short stories. I could talk about the absurd text message I received from the NHS regarding this winter’s flu jab, and how it won’t be long before we’re instructed that we must even start going to the toilet online. I could talk about the two big, powerful horses which have appeared in a field down the lane, how they took a keen interest in my presence and came to say hello, and how the slightly bigger grey bullied the slightly smaller skewbald. (I think I'm going to need more apples.) Or I could talk about the strange dream of wheelie bins and the sense of utter confusion they granted me when I woke up prematurely.
But my brain needs a rest and I’m tired, so I’ll just mention that we had a little welcome rain this afternoon combined with a pleasantly warm airflow. It made the evening stroll most refreshing and I even said hello to four people as well as the two horses. Saying hello to four people during the course of one short stroll is rather more momentous than you might think, and so the daylight hours, at least, ended on a positive note. Unfortunately, I now have the song Down by the Sally Gardens running through my head on a loop. I’ve no idea why, but it’s almost as irritating as dreaming about wheelie bins.
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