I'm sitting in bed late (8.18 a.m.) on a fine dry morning with both windows open because although there's an overcast sky, it's sultry. A red hot air balloon is about to land beyond the trees. Dave is downstairs playing his guitar and singing A blacksmith courted me.
I need to get up and tackle a list of jobs such as delivering some of my books to Hassop Station, moving a hardy geranium and some primulas to another border; picking plums from our tree, and then making and freezing a plum crumble for visitors arriving when I get home from Colorado in three weeks time.
Yes! A week today I'm going to see Cece and Lux and all of the others, which means I also need to hurry up and finish Cece's jumper, and check I have enough books to give her and Lux.
I shall also be visiting the Aging Hippie in California. I told a young friend this yesterday and she laughed at the term 'Aging Hippie' and I explained that Karen really was a hippie in the sixties and lived in Haight-Ashbury and was arrested at demos, etc.
And afterwards I wondered if my young friend knew what I was talking about, because she was born in the eighties. Had she heard of Haight-Ashbury? Does she know about the love-ins?
I mentioned Ralph McTell to my sax teacher Mel the other day and she said "Who? Who is Ralph McTell?" and I though she was joking.
It's energising and life affirming to be with young people, and I need to do more of it because it cheers me up. But it's challenging when you mystify them with your cultural references. You become like one of those old codgers who used to say "We could buy a bottle of whisky and a packet of fags and still have enough money for the bus back from town."