Mum and Dad were off on their hike by nine, and I rang Grant, spending a pleasant half-hour or so talking while lying on my back in the hallway, my legs lazily stretched up the stairs. I know I’ve said this before, but there’s so much to be optimistic about, if only I make an effort.
Grant and I are going to see The Nightingales next Wednesday and there's books to read, hikes to go on, trips to London, to Edinburgh . . . I want to start painting and to get the Moody Street newsletter. There's this Buddhist thing too, so many things. . . .
I can't get back into Russian history. Janet and Trev called round with Michael at half-six.
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