It’s a well-attested fact that I’m a night owl who lives life approximately three hours behind the average mortal, one result of which is that I don’t rise until 10-10.30.
And then the morning routines start, culminating in my morning walk to help keep the atherosclerosis at bay. It’s usually around 1.30-2pm by the time I get back, which means it’s lunchtime. Lunch is prepared and eaten by around 2.30, and that’s when I’m free to do jobs outside.
But darkness is beginning to fall by a quarter to four on dull days, so then it’s time to stow the tools (because I’m a stickler for the time-honoured principle of having a place for everything and keeping everything in it), top up the birds’ feeding tables, close the curtains, and settle to a little housework, dinner, dish washing, and finding something to keep my mind occupied through the long winter evenings.
Still, at least I can use it as an incontrovertible excuse to avoid doing very much, which suits my nature quite well. It’s why I don’t complain about it once the autumn clearance work is finished in the garden. (I have only one small job left to do now, once the Himalayan Honeysuckle tells me she’s ready. I listen to my plants, you see, because I suspect that their place in the Grand Illusion is different than most people think it is.)
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