It is funny how much difference a good blast of proper baking sunlight can make. Yesterday, Tooting was gleaming. I popped over to Number 8 Neighbour across the road to marvel at her south facing garden. It was bathed in warm light and lovely. She says it gets too hot during the afternoons.
We had a long conversation about letter writing. It’s an under appreciated art form, supposedly superceded by email, facebook, twitter (@rpudd, if you’re interested), but still one of the nicest ways to keep in touch. Number 8 Neighbour says she will often write a letter over a week, updating day by day. The letters she writes to her best friends are longer than ones to people she doesn’t get on with so well.
Back over our side of the street the long grass in the garden is taunting me. It has grown some more overnight, just to exacerbate my guilt at not having mown it for months. The plant pots are still sitting next to the sink, barren.
Perhaps I will get out there today. For now though, a nice cup of tea is my next step. I intend to give it the time and attention it deserves for once. Loose leaf tea, teapot, fresh milk. China cup. Magazine. Luxury.