Stale, Flat and Unprofitable

There doesn't seem to be anything to DO, not anything I want to do anyway. Shall I follow the spirit of this place and become a Mall Rat? (someone who wanders aimlessly round shopping malls). It sounds like the sixth circle of hell.

I spent the morning preparing for the last round of painting with masking tape etc, and did some alterations for Mary, made cushion covers etc, and that feels like enough. A spanking walk up Noar Hill would be my ideal, or even better, up to St Catherine's chapel in Abbotsbury. June and I go up there every morning when I visit, and sing, once the Archbishop of Canterbury came along with his wife.

A clumsy star rules this weekend. Last night I spilt garlic butter, not only on the table but between its authentic 19th century farmhouse cracks. Suscipe helped clean it up to some extent but the remainder dripped into the fringes of the rug which covers the hard cushion we use as a footstool ( it is LOVELY to have a footstool under a dining table, I saw it first in the home of a tiny decorator who lived in a cottage so quaint my hair brushed the beams in the kitchen. I digress).

I then spilt the strawberries in the fridge, got into a ridiculous tussle with a red pepper jammed up in the carton of eggs and lost my temper with my sewing box. Garlic butter got under my coffee cup and it's all a bit disheartening. Low tide, or I would kayak. Maybe I should walk to China Camp and check out the wildflowers, don't much enjoy it alone but it is good walking weather.

I am relieving my feeling by listening to a very boisterous mass, muscular Christianity at its least subtle. And by blogging of course.