I meant to be back here sooner, not least in order to talk about The Poisoner, Judith. But when I got up on Sunday I couldn't, get up I mean. I could lie or sit, or scuttle, but I couldn't stand up straight or walk. I saw the osteopath on Tuesday and I am much better, but I think it's going to be another few days before I can catch up with things and write a post.
Don't worry, though: I can still read, knit and operate a remote control so things aren't desparate.
The osprey chicks have both taken off and spend a lot of time in neighbouring trees, practising going backwards and forwards. Neither of them has come back with a fish yet.
Estelle Getty died this week, of an awful degenerative sort of dementia so presumably it came under the heading of a blessed release. This is from happier times.
Picture this - Sicily, 1922...