This morning we went to the farmers’ market in North Ealing. All delightful artisan produce, very easy to spend a great deal, it’s all so tempting. Adam had a babyccino, aka frothy milk, and felt he was really cool. Or we did, as doting grandparents. Everyone seemed so delighted to be out and about doing “normal” things, scarcely a mask in sight: well, ridiculous if there was, as it was all open air. I am still mystified by seeing people alone in their own car, wearing a mask. Uber drivers being the exception.
It was cooler today though still sunny. But we are approaching drought conditions. It is quite nice to sit on the grass in the park without squelching in mud though. The blossom is fantastic still:
Uncle Mark brought Adam a box of small dinosaurs, from the Debenham’s closing down sale. Two went to the park, three in the bath with him, and he has gone to bed clutching a pterodactyl. What on earth is the enduring attraction of dinosaurs? And yet another child I know was totally terrified when taken to the Natural History Museum and was confronted with the skeleton of a real dinosaur. So huge, not at all like the dear little things in the story books.
I am getting to like Karl Jenkins’ music more and more. The Benedictus is very well known: it is very haunting I find. And serene. I need that just now.