It’s crystal clear, and that’s the problem.

At the dinner table my husband started conducting, in order to demonstrate where the introduction to The Flintstones started, and knocked over his wine glass, breaking it and spilling his wine. He then got a miniscule piece of glass in his bare foot which I had to pick out with the aid of tweezers and a magnifying glass (damned presbyopea). Everything is all better now.

It turned out to be a gorgeous day. I walked into town to mail letters and dropped in on Jane at the card shop (I was looking for sealing wax, which she didn’t have) and Geraldine at the health food store (I bought miso and a carbonated beverage), having nice chats with both of them, before returning the way I came and walking along with Brenda the secretary who was holding her picket high, before reaching home (I passed Hubby on his way to play tennis) for lunch. It was later when I was pulling weeds from my basil patch that I must have got a touch too much sun on my shoulders, for they are rather rosy now.

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