The seasons turn. Now is the time for plinky-plonky frogs - which sound rather like one of the home-made fishing-line and oil-can guitars which I made as kid. I am particularly musically gifted at tuneless plinky-plonky noises and so the frogs in the fields. It's a beautifully eerie out there with the myriad stars burning down cold and clear, and the dark alive with the sound.
And our stuff arrived at the PO - we got our cordless drill and our other parcel. John-the-post-office took a look at the cordless drill (in its carrying case) and said to Barbs - "huh, more girly stuff, eh?" I think we'll get a chainsaw through the post next. Or maybe a jack-hammer? Still, I now have a mitre-saw and a drill - which I felt very bare without.
Anyway, I took Kate to my writer's group today, and then we took her to our Scottish romp... er dancing. Poor lass, I think she needs a holiday to recover from us!