It is another yet another Friday, the trigger for a million different ways to spend a weekend. This is the first Friday this month, a rare event, and one that cannot be repeated this year. The sunshine earlier in the morning invaded our senses and caused with no undue certainty, for the kitchen door to be opened to the garden, giving both the cat free access and the gentle warm breeze the ability to wander into the house as the muse took it.
I have been engrossing myself in online games of the multi-player style for the last couple months, and as the days have blended together disfiguring the calendar into a grotesque admonishment, an apology for entropy. Now today, I find myself under a shady umbrella beside our garden table, tapping away enjoying a balmy influx of delightful weather. This must be the second best day this year, if we get another warm zephyrs day, it will possibly be a new record for the meteorological office to boast about.
Our small English garden is awash with birdsong, the regular whine of aircraft engines passing overhead to and from Manchester or Liverpool. Missing is the incessant racket of children ‘enjoying’ themselves, telling me the nearby infant level school must be closed for yet another school term holiday.
Our lawn needs cutting again, but that, I remind myself, is now the task of the housing companies gardener teams. The rag-taggle band of guerilla gardeners with a creed to inflict themselves onto the quietness being enjoyed by innocent victims. The come armed with the most noisy encroutriments imaginable. Leaf blowers, strimmers, hover mowers and all powered by raucous petrol driven engines.
But I am enjoying this rare wonderful weather and writing about it. What could be finer?