On days like today I wish I had a convertible. It has been glorious. The great thing about spring sun is that unlike the summer it is not accompanied by hordes of wasps and flies. After coffee I took a spin in countryside with the window wound down, Haydn on the stereo, shades on and enjoyed the glory of the day. I stopped for lunch and a pint at The White Horse then onto to my usual Saturday.
Home via my friend Michael's house for tea, I have rib of beef, chicken and minced pork. The beef will be for tomorrow, a nicely aged single rib with some horseradish and a glass of French red. Likely to be chicken tonight then that classic Chinese recipe "the ants climbing the tree". For the uninitiated that is a spicy dish of cellophane noodles and minced pork, a kind of oriental spaghetti bolognese.
Delving further into my Beethoven box set I discovered something truly wonderful. The cello sonatas are every bit as good as the magnificent violin sonatas. It reminds me of Beka's mum who is a cellist. Listening to the last two now.
So far so good this weekend. That said I did have another anxiety packed night of dreams that almost set me on a downward path. Why do I so worry about things I cannot control?
I Heard a Voice.
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