Not enough hours in the day
At this time of year I always think I should feel to have extra time. Yesterday was the longest day and, after a day in Manchester, we still managed to spend an hour or two in the garden, watering, tying things up, putting things back in the cold frames after resiting them in order to extend the hen run. The moon gleamed like a small pale sun. The sky was still light at 10 o' clock. Across the valley the clouds held the last of the sun. I love summer and last night I had a profound attack of how lucky I am to live here. When I woke this morning to another green and gold day I thought I might manage to do some work, go to the hairdressers, and paint in the kitchen, now beautifully plastered and revealing its smooth curves. Not yet what you could call a working kitchen though is it? Am I the only one who always hopelessly misjudges what I can do in a certain amount of time? I look at the bits of my day that are committed and assume that the res...