I've been drawing and painting nasturtiums a lot just recently. This is the latest bunch on the painting table:
They will be the last this year, unfortunately, because the caterpillars have now munched their way through the whole border.
But sometimes things work out right.
Sometimes you have an art tutorial on zoom and you learn a lot.
Sometimes you ring the GP surgery and get hold of the doctor you really like.
Sometimes you plan an event and it turns out to be the only sunny day that week. And when the day arrives, your grandson gets the top-notch GCSE results he deserves, so you have something to celebrate.
A friend told me the other day that he'd whipped the cream for a cake with a fork instead of a whisk: 'My mother used to do it and I wanted to have a go. You have to get your kicks where you can these days.'
You certainly do. Currently Chrissie and I are both leading very quiet lives on account of you-know-what, so we planned a margarita-fest for yesterday teatime in the garden. We were both excited and both decided completely independently to dress up. And when Chrissie arrived at 5 p.m. the sun was still out.
Here we are, keeping our distance:
It was perfect.
I remember my very first margarita. It was in a bar in Morrison, Colorado in 2003, the first time I flew to the States to visit Isaac. The worst one I ever had was in Monterey, and the best have been at the Velvet Cantina in San Francisco, and Bar Taco in Boulder. Oh dear, I've just discovered that Velvet Cantina has permanently closed on account of you-know-what. That's such a shame.
Dave, who does not drink, asked me yesterday what was so special about margaritas. I tried to explain, and ended up by saying, 'Basically, Dave, they are the only drinks I know that make you feel happy. It's impossible not to feel happy when you're drinking a margarita.'
'Hmm,' he said, 'what would make me feel happy is a new hammer.'