My goodness. We’re into our fourth week of this. That’s hard to credit, as are the terrible figures: more than 10,000 dead in the UK (and we know that figure excludes the many who have died at home or in care homes, so the true figures are substantially higher). Each one of them a person desperately missed by their family, their friends, their community. We must always, always remember that.
Today is another Bank Holiday here in the UK, so I’ve continued to let go of the goals and routines, and have a different, unstructured kind of day.
A gentle day of cooking, pottering around the house, watering plants, crochet and podcasts, and exchanges of texts, emails and phone calls. Plus two requests for sourdough guidance, wherein I realised that I have in fact become my mother: I could only advise that ‘you put in till it feels right’, which of course is exactly what you do. Fortunately sourdough is very forgiving, and simply requires confidence and patience. It also gives delicious pancakes, which is what we ate after our meal this evening.
I hope you are well. See you again tomorrow (when normal service will be resumed).
the magic jug 