44 days, 19

I know that, as long as I plod on like a senseless beast of burden, I'm quite happy. The trick being NOT to spend any time at all thinking about human condition in general, one's own pathetic existence in particular. All's well. A successful load of laundry – dried in the warm sunshine, smelling of fresh grasses and river breeze - becomes truly satisfying and quite enough.

Forget the bigger picture i.e. what is a load of laundry / a wall painted / a dish cooked / a bill paid / a seed planted / sand removed from one's shoe against the impossible height of one's dreams?

OK, we're resolutely NOT looking at that: let's try another category then. A wall painted. The one I painted today looked brown but, mid-afternoon, turned yellow. A good thing too, doubts, hard work, suspense and surprise (a story in itself, don't you think?)

A seed planted – that's what Kiwi and I did when she got back from school. They're now lined up in the yurt, in tiny pots: tomatoes, cucumbers, broccoli, rhubarb; celeriac, aubergines, dill.

The sun shone, lambs chased each other in the meadow, birds sang. A very successful laundry day.

P.S. AND it was Father's Day; you've got a present and a letter waiting.

P.P.S. I read on Facebook that it was Mother's Day a few days ago. Wow. These kids have no time to breathe with all the crafts and letter writing involved in these events. They really must work for their Easter Eggs.

P.P.P.S. Not my kids. For Mother's Day no crafts (since we all forgot) and for Father's Day no father. Maybe we can let our hair down for a joint party when you're back ?