No Ado About Anything At All.

Overcome I am by a desire to write something. Anything. But so little is going on.

No Summer Fetes or Pardons this year. And you don’t realise what you are missing until they don’t happen.

My neighbours still aren’t back from Angleterre so I am still feeding their stray cat. Although I suspect that it might be three cats now. Two bleary articles shoot off in a flurry of dust the minute they hear me coming. But something is eating more food than just one cat could eat. So they probably come back when I have gone.

Masks at the ready again. It has all been a bit iffy until now, but now you have to. I felt like a right Pratt I have to tell you. But what on earth would we do without Ears? I briefly got a bit concerned about this, so I suspect I might be going a bit mental. Who isn’t?

It isn’t raining at the moment, so I suppose that is something to be thankful for, except that I have to water the plants and the Water Butts are rapidly going down. There’s no pleasing some Folk.

I did have a very nice man out today to give me an estimate for Three New Front Doors. I am heartily sick of my Doors, although they could well be 100 years old. They look as though they are. He thought that Rotten Little Swine is lovely, so he could well get the job. I don’t expect to get change out of Five Thousand Euros, which took me a very long time to save. And Rotten Little Swine definitely liked him and barely missed peeing on his leg with excitement at meeting a new People Person. What better recommendation could one ask for when spending that sort of money? Doors? One can only hope. Trust The Dog. There you are you see. Rotten Little Swine is of some use after all. Dear of him.