It is 12.35 p.m. I am sitting in bed in a silent house, reading the Guardian Review. I have a sore throat and a cold and I am short of sleep. Dave, never short of energy, is out on his bike. The Colorado Hepworths have just taken off from Heathrow, flying home.
Earlier, Dave and I watched murmurating starlings in the field across the road and I said "what a pity the girls aren't here to see them." This kind of observation will continue for a couple of days.
You know that expression "photo-bombing" don't you? ( Don't worry, Pete, I'll explain when you ring tomorrow.)
I feel as though I've been love-bombed, and it lasted a week.
They left at 6 a.m. This is me having a last minute cuddle with a sleepy Cece, en route to the car in her pyjamas.