I lay in this morning - or so I thought, until realising I've not reset the clocks since summertime. And what I'd usually think of a beautiful dawn seemed a touch too bright - but in truth I'm not sure about that, because thinking hurts...
In a perverse way this is good for my head. It was in danger of swelling too much after learning I was a winner in the National Trust's competition for a signed copy of Butterfly Isles. Hardly a top literary prize, but I'm imagining there were many thousands of entries (I wish) The competition was to describe an encounter with butterflies and I shall post mine shortly.
Coincidentally, the author who wrote the cover blurb for the book was a tutor on my recent writing course: she recommended I buy it. I'll wait and see, I said, I 'might win a copy - you never know. I was always confident; strange though, how success can go to your head.
Now where did I put those painkillers?
This morning in my garden