Today is a day of retrospection, an anniversary in which we remember the people who have died from that wretched virus. Notice in the Guardian that there is already a book about it. Written by two journalists from The Times, so it has some pedigree but of course it is quite to soon to look back and judge the state. Perhaps we should be judging our way of governing the country. One thing I find to praise, and who doesn't, is the selflessness of doctors, nurses and workers in the country who have worked through this pandemic. We owe a duty of responsibility to them to care for their welfare (and wages).
This morning, having got up early to bake bread and make soup I can see the fencing going up. The men started yesterday, they have machinery to knock the posts in and already the wire gleams in the sun. Got a bit worried yesterday, as they cut branches off the large multiple stems of the old hawthorn but went out and spoke to them. He seemed glad to see me and reassured that he was not cutting my old friend down. At least it has shut the crows up in their eyries which they have been renewing they are absent and I can now listen to the real dawn chorus without their horrible croaking.
It struck me this morning that most of my food is prepared by me. Baking bread, tea bread with coffee and soup for lunch. Lucy shares it all, my slimming diet I call her, for she eats my toast, half my tea bread slice and likes a small bowl of soup. Her afternoon meals is a bowlful of noodles. Eaten just like the romantic meal of the 'Lady and the Tramp' when they shared a bowlful of spaghetti, though I don't share her noodles but feed them with a fork.
Back to sorting, whenever I think my life has been quiet, sorting through correspondence on parts of my life remind me that I was always doing something at some stage.