It's really quiet out here. The wind is tickling the trees and the occasional car whooshes by every now and then. These are proper chill-out minutes.
It's been quite the weekend. Harp and Bowl on Friday (it's a church thing, not a pub name) followed by The Swan (OK, that is a pub) and then looking after the Niblings on Saturday morning. That involved a game of Star Wars Top Trumps, hiding in the cupboard and being shot with plastic canons.
I flooded the kitchen in the afternoon when I trapped a shirt sleeve in the door of the washing machine. So, the rest of the afternoon involved standing in my socks, squeezing a mop out and pushing waves of water across the linoleum.
That's Reading over there, catching the summer sun between the hills of the Thames Valley. It always looks nicer farther away.
Games night with Sammy and Emmie rescued me from further housework. I ate two fondant fancies before they pointed out that they were girly cakes. I protested but I was outfoxed in the end, by the swirly writing and the pink packaging.
Then church this morning (my day off from playing piano) was really good. I followed it up by doing some writing in Starbucks but I was soon distracted by a party of people at the next table, who were using selfie sticks to capture the moment.
How have we got to a point where selfie sticks are a thing? It's an over-elaborate way to take a photograph of yourself isn't it? Back in the old days, you'd find a nice looking person and say, 'Excuse me, would you mind taking a photo of us? You just push that button... yes, until it clicks....' and that was it. Either that or you'd set up a timer. Nowadays the selfie stick lets you do it all yourself. Rather than actually speaking to strangers, now you can just accidentally poke them in the eye.
And so I've got to Sunday evening, chilling out in the warm June sunshine, waiting for a meeting. Actually I'd better get to it. I don't want to be late.
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