Realised yesterday the Olympic flame will go right past my flat, just like the Pope. At least I'll be prepared this time, and not think I'm hallucinating. There are coal tits - they are tiny! - tumbling and falling in the tree in the garden, like they're having their own Jubilee party - without the excruciating, ingratiating behaviour displayed by BBC - and you can hear squeaking from the wall where they are nesting. Brilliant essay by Malcolm Muggeridge from 1955 on the toadying by public and media towards the royal family.
Have been dipping into Simon Barnes' Birdwatching With Your Eyes Closed. It's funny and informative, gorgeous, short chapters. I'm still hopeless at identifying birds by their song, but it's a joy to lie with your eyes closed and just listen.
Have been dipping into Simon Barnes' Birdwatching With Your Eyes Closed. It's funny and informative, gorgeous, short chapters. I'm still hopeless at identifying birds by their song, but it's a joy to lie with your eyes closed and just listen.
My 7-yr-old nephew is the more gallus of the two, though he can be painfully shy. Watching Springwatch last week, when the wee nesting warblers got eaten by a domestic cat, he said: 'Cute cat'. How can you say that? I asked. He just smiled. Later, glimpsing David Cameron, he said: 'That man looks like a baby'.
My mother is improving - thankfully - though she's still not out of the woods. At times, I've been so exhausted, I've found myself walking around with my arms folded, holding them up, because they are so ragged. It reminded me of the darkest days of ME when at one point I actually had a sling for my arms, they felt so ill. And I remembered not being able to stir soup.
