w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

Today's lyric:

"If I was like you, with nothing to get around
Then everything would be beautiful, as far as I can see
You'd be sitting here with me 'til love's end."

Moby: "Signs of love"
From the album: "18"

Whizzed Number One Son and Daughter down to see f.i.l. on Saturday, warning them how frail he'd be looking, after his first dose of chemo.

But the bu99er was up, shaved, dressed and as chipper as a chippy thing. Obviously it'll all go mammaries upwards when he has the second dose, but it was so good to see him looking normal again.

Then having worked all day yesterday in the garden, we decided to stay out in it as long as possible during the evening.

Hopeless as I am at recognising flowers, I do know the scent of honeysuckle when I smell it, and as it runs in swathes through the bushes which form our natural fences, it's a scent which just makes me know it's summer.

And as bad as I am with flowers, birds are a mystery to me, too. There's a finchy type thing that nests behind the Kent-peg tiles which hang on the back wall of our house, presumably causing little damage? They've been doing it for years, so I'm not going to try and stop them now.

There were also four cocky Magpies trotting along the ridge tiles, pecking at the dried-up clumps of moss clinging to them and occasionally stopping to talk to each other, as if saying "Pickings aren't up to much here, are they?"

But the best sight for me is that of pipistrelle bats, and one was jinking low over our heads as we sat in the cooling evening, while the dusk darkened from cyan to royal blue to near-black.

Lovely.

Number One Son's now on his way back to Kernowland for the rest of the summer and Number One Daughter's apparently broken up with her partner of some three years, so a bit of sad times ahead, methinks..