We enjoyed al fresco fish'n'chips last night, in the company of our friends Rae and Malcolm. The local pub is not serving meals at present, but they are accommodating take-aways, so they were ordered by phone and picked up from the bar. It is surprising how quickly time passes in the company of friends, and we ended in full darkness, picking out stars and constellations from between the passing clouds. Rae and Malcolm usually go to France each year for their break, but not this year. Everything is so uncertain, they will not risk booking the travel and will holiday in the UK.
On Sunday, we don't get the paper delivered, so following my Sunday routine I drove to Clare early before the heat got up to walk the dogs the long round behind the Swan. I went across to the paper shop, donning my mask as I went, and bought the Times. I know the Sunday Times is a broadsheet, but this was a tabloid size, so I wondered if they had switched over to the new format.
It was still well before nine o'clock when I got home, so I got a bowl of cereal and took the paper to read on the patio. To my surprise, there was a Telegraph delivered on the mat and I wondered if the paper shop had suddenly started Sunday deliveries. I picked it up and noted it said in bold letters, "Saturday". I looked at the Times then, and noted it too said "Saturday". I must be getting a little dopey - somehow I was a whole day out. At least we ended up with two crosswords to complete.
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