Sunday, 21 January 2018

Vanished on the hill

I give thanks for Walter - he gives me such wonderful presents! I wanted to see mountains for my birthday and he's taken me to some stunning ones in France with a blue lake and red roofed town hugging the slopes. Such a feast for the eyes I almost don't mind not being able to knit while watching...

Meanwhile, back in the real world, I do a sort of high pitched whimper like a hopeful dog when I'm near the station but am no nearer coming up with any sensible plan for anywhere to try to get to and enjoy in my rather sore and fragile state. I give thanks for Mima offering to drive me up a hill for tea and cake but when we got there the cafe wasn't! Although the website still insists it's open seven days a week there's clearly some major works going on and half the building's gone. I give thanks for my favourite pub across the water doing the job very well instead.

I give thanks for more movement in my arm, though if I want less pain I'm better off keeping still. For sleeping. For the bits when the neighbours are... or out.

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