Plot

Today. This day. Now. Remember remember the fifth of November. A day that draws attention to itself.. Later, the big firework display in town, and crowds will descend on the park and pay to churn its grass to liquid mud, eat smelly hot food, drink beer. Wait a long time for half an hour of big bright loud fireworks which can for nothing be seen from many vantage points all around town. This old curmudgeon will probably stay in looking at the wood burner instead. We have a little firework display up here in our village that I don't quite think of as a village tomorrow night, so I think I'll settle for that.

Next year's diary pages arrive from big internet retailer threatening to take over the world. Another year so swiftly added, seamlessly promising to continue on where this one leaves off. I am hoping it will be easier to navigate than this.

Lovely scabious, white and dark red, from the garden, in a vase on the table, many with wiggly stems that still manage to hold them up.

It is nine minutes past three and I have just experienced that moment when you first sense the coming of darkness, that subtle shift in the light, towards dying.

L is out at a lino-printing workshop. I look forward to seeing her creations.