Coloured

I touched up all the marks and gashes, gouges and scratches on the walls and windowsills today, using five different tins of paint though one was covered in a thick, soft crust of mould and at first looked unusable. Quite unfazed, I scooped the gunk off with a spoon and the paint underneath was fine. But how to identify the two colours of white on the ceilings - Wimborne White or All White? Only one way to find out, and the first one I tried was not right I can see now that it has dried. I'll try the other one tomorrow. But the windowsills have all come up fresh and clean, and the hole in the wall where the mirror fell off has been repaired, repainted in Joah's White, and the mirror rehung on a stouter hook. Of course, no sooner had I put the tins away and washed the brushes than I found all the other places that could do with a small tarting up. But why oh why do Farrow and Ball use the word "white" so recklessly? Do they not know that white is an uncolour, a not colour  (though Edmund de Waal would take issue with this)? Putty, earth, grey, cream and fudge are NOT white.

After lunch and the speediest dispatch of the Times crossword - usually a devil on a Saturday but not today - I filled the big bag with logs for tonight's fire, and donned suitable clothing for a walk. Horrible weather was forecast - a briefish band of heavy rain and strong winds - but not until later, so I went on my favourite road stomp at a brisk pace up and down the hill. I took the precaution of adding the hood to my jacket although it was dry and not cold, but at the farthest extent of the walk, a full mile from the house and facing into the weather, all hell was let loose. It soaked my face and glasses, but otherwise I was so snug, so well wrapped up and warm, that I welcomed it. Walking back through a gauntlet, or guard of honour as I preferred to think of it, of swaying ancient oak trees each threatening to topple me with its wayward overhanging branches, was a bit nerve-wracking. But I thought I'd hear the splintering of wood and have time to run if anything started to fall. Nothing untoward happened, and I spent the rest of the afternoon happily doing Italian exercises in my warm kitchen. Era tutto piuttosto deliziosa, devo dire.