Sweet Nothings

It was all go today, and too hot to be so active. First a trip to the hairdressers, then a call in to see Judy and David to collect a recipe, and lastly a pop-in on James, our old next-door neighbour as I passed his house. How fantastic that Roland was home too. They are so tall, and they do such great hugs, you have to get on tiptoes and stretch up, but it's worth it. We were very close to these two lovely men when we lived beside them for four years, and spent many happy evenings, lunchtimes, mornings and afternoons over very French coffee or wine or wonderful meals, ours and theirs. They adored Hugo, and seemed very pleased to see me, looking well and happy they said. I'd made the right decision, they were sure. Life's too short. I dallied there with them for a long time, but I had to get back. More weekend visitors due tomorrow, and if the garden doesn't look as good as I can make it I shall want answers. In the event mowing the lawn and clipping the edges was all I could be bothered with. Nobody notices the details anyway apart from me; it's the general impression that counts, and it is very pretty and colourful at the moment. The afternoon grew more humid and I retired to my reclining chair every ten minutes or so with my book, dog in close tow. It's funny how that old work ethic still pricks me seven years after retirement. But if can't do bugger-all now, when will I be able to?