Slow progress is being made with the current book at bedtime, The Sunne in Splendour, the novel about Richard lll. I'm only halfway through (it is a whopper), the Houses of York and Lancaster continue to knock nine bells out of each other on a regular basis and Richard is just coming up to his 19th birthday, so there's a way to go. But it's a cracking read and quite the change from my usual choice (well written twisty crime, serial killer optional).
I don't often have two books on the go at the same time (my addled brain struggles with just a single storyline to be honest) but this one, a memoir with end of chapter yoga sequences, was purchased on the back of throwing myself (possibly a tad too enthusiastically if my loudly protesting back is anything to go by) into my weekly yoga class.
A bit of inner peace wouldn't go amiss, actually. There have been very difficult decisions to be made in respect of my aunt, decisions taken with (what I consider to be) her best interests very much at heart but, even so, far, far from easy. A sharp reminder that life isn't always pink and fluffy.
Autumn in all its colourful glory has been helping. I took myself off to the big park down the road (I wrote about it here) one afternoon to wander down paths and kick leaves and watch dogs chase squirrels and just take it all in.
Time spent pottering in the kitchen has also helped. A simple fruity tea loaf was quickly made (soaking the dried fruit in hot strong tea for just half an hour helped) and quickly demolished (by yours truly) and a Very Important Visitor and his mummy, who were up here for the day, were welcomed with a batch of rhubarb and custard flavoured macaroon topped cakes (of course, the VIV couldn't eat any as he doesn't have any gnashers yet). I didn't make the macaroons, which were some of the Boy's rejects, but I thought they'd add a bit of crunch. There were definite nods of approval.
Firework season has started here, Boo's least favourite time of year. Actually, for a gun dog he's surprisingly terrified of bangs (he hates fireworks even more than he hates Jeremy Paxman, and that's saying something) and his fear and anxiety seem to be increasing each year. He definitely needs to undertake a desensitisation programme. Too late for this year, unfortunately, so I'm dreading the lead up and Bonfire Night itself, when he'll be a quivering, panting wreck. I'm considering buying him one of these. I may buy one for myself.