Off Again

My guest has gone, leaving behind a vase of beautiful deep pink roses and the scent of lilies. We've done the antique shops, eaten lunch in the sun, drunk a few glasses of Adnam's Broadside, walked through the autumnal fields, and cooked up a feast of a Sunday evening roast. The weather has been unseasonable warm and sunny, the threatened deluge a non-starter. The trip to the station for the train, the fond farewells, the sinking feeling alone in the car again which quickly passes - it's the usual end of a happy, companionable weekend.

Another mirror has been bought - my sixth and by far the biggest. For someone who never looks at her reflection I have an awful lot of opportunities for narcissism in my house now. The newest one, five feet by one metre to mix my genres, will hang in the room with no name. If that doesn't reflect the light nothing will. But this is serious, weighty mirrorage, and will need expert hanging. I don't want to bring walls tumbling down, not after I've painted and all.

The new lawn is looking thick and healthy, but I still can't walk on it thanks to the heavy overnight showers of the past two weeks. And so I continue to slither around the muddy edges which will soon be fluffed up and filled with shrubs and plants. My new vegetable beds have been discussed and planned, and next week I will order the wood to create the raised beds. It doesn't get more delicious than this, or more exciting.