It's a repeat performance. I don't want to go home tomorrow. The sun is warm, the evening long and light. Now nine at night and it is still broad day.
Truly, the northern isles of the UK and the RoI are magical in midsummer. Birds sing. MasterB sleeps. The Shouty Man is quiet and fishing. There are dogs. The lovely Nelson, a black Lab, has got me pinned as a soft touch, thrower of balls, and he brings me fluorescent tennis balls when I go ashore.
Das Boot is more than half clean. The newspaper is entirely unread. I bought eggs from a new source this morning and met a a young Rotweiler who really really wanted to say hello.
I do feel a bit guilty about not seeing Aunt. I shall be back in a couple of weeks and shall devote a day to her.
What I thought was a fairly casual conversation last week has been taken seriously, and apparently there is someone ready and waiting to replace the linings on my boat. This is very good news.
I am posting using Blogsy. It seems very efficient at putting up posts. Then I can't get to emails or most of the time, replay to comments. Bizarre.
When I think I might have given up and stayed home this weekend, I am so aware of how precious my time is here. For all I know, my neighbours have been up late, talking and drinking. Meanwhile I have had the peace of a remote patch of countryside.
I thought people might have been annoyed by the sound of the power washer. But the only conversations I had were about where I had bought it and how it worked alongside the pump. There is silt on the river, and I need to check out how the filters work on both pump and washer. Hopefully, my new cleaning system will not be a one hit wonder.
Envy me my evening. It really could not get much better than this.