Greetings my friends out there in blogland. How are you all? It's been a rather grey and occasionally wet day here in Hertfordshire. Not much different today, shopping, domesticity and a little TV. It's not really been a day to be out and about. I didn't even go to the pub.
Yet today is different. For today I'm roasting a fine dinner. Rolled and stuffed belly pork is roasting away on a bed of sage and rosemary. Sunday has come early. There is a marvellous smell coming from the kitchen. My neighbour will be joining me and will bring a bottle of Rioja. I suspect it may well be an opera night, Haydn today I think.
The reason for Sunday on Saturday is that tomorrow I will catch the 10.52 am from the station meeting Nigel on the train then on to Wembley. Nearly 20 years since I was last there and nearer 30 years since I saw American football there finally I will see a live, real regular season game. That's a long time to wait. Neither team is particularly interesting, the mediocre Buffalo Bills and the inept Jacksonville Jaguars. But whatever the quality I intend to enjoy the day.
After the week that was, another difficult one I'm relieved to be off if only for the weekend. I'm holding my own and not as overwhelmed as I was a few weeks ago but life still seems precarious. I did my mood diary in the week, erratic and mainly low is not so good. Yet the fight goes on. A day at a time, and on the bad days an hour at a time. We will get there sometime.
I Heard a Voice.
No comments:
Post a Comment