Bedlington Terrier
Nothing like the existential threat of not having a journal to make me want to post in it.
Everything hurts. I've pulled my right calf muscle. I have tendonitis in my left wrist. I have a weird callus on the ball of my left foot.
On my way to work I have to walk past a row of townhouses that are let out as B&Bs. This week there was a family with two little girls staying in the end one. They stood on the balcony every morning, shouting"HELLO" at everyone who walked by and jumping up and down when anyone (me) waved back.
Friday morning, they were gone. Instead, there was an older lady in a dressing gown, standing in the little front garden. "Oh, you're so beautiful, won't you take some bread?" she said as I passed - not to me, but to a magpie that was standing on the path.
The buckle came off my watch band during the week, so Friday afternoon I took it to a jewellery shop to get a new band. The woman who served me had to take my details for a form. "What's your surname?" she said, and wrote it down. "And your first name?" I told her Alicia, and she said, "Oh, of course, I just read it engraved on the back of the watch." She laughed. "And that's why I'm not a detective."
There is a lovely little second-hand bookshop round the corner from here, sadly closing down. Well, sad for me, anyway. Not the owners. I took a stroll down there this morning, and found they're retiring to a beachside cottage in Portarlington. So that's nice for them. I found a couple of mid-series Chalet School books I've never read before and a couple of Patricia Wentworth's Miss Silver novels (my current reading jag). They've got three weeks left before they close, and I've half a mind to go back later in the week for second helpings.
Everything hurts. I've pulled my right calf muscle. I have tendonitis in my left wrist. I have a weird callus on the ball of my left foot.
On my way to work I have to walk past a row of townhouses that are let out as B&Bs. This week there was a family with two little girls staying in the end one. They stood on the balcony every morning, shouting"HELLO" at everyone who walked by and jumping up and down when anyone (me) waved back.
Friday morning, they were gone. Instead, there was an older lady in a dressing gown, standing in the little front garden. "Oh, you're so beautiful, won't you take some bread?" she said as I passed - not to me, but to a magpie that was standing on the path.
The buckle came off my watch band during the week, so Friday afternoon I took it to a jewellery shop to get a new band. The woman who served me had to take my details for a form. "What's your surname?" she said, and wrote it down. "And your first name?" I told her Alicia, and she said, "Oh, of course, I just read it engraved on the back of the watch." She laughed. "And that's why I'm not a detective."
There is a lovely little second-hand bookshop round the corner from here, sadly closing down. Well, sad for me, anyway. Not the owners. I took a stroll down there this morning, and found they're retiring to a beachside cottage in Portarlington. So that's nice for them. I found a couple of mid-series Chalet School books I've never read before and a couple of Patricia Wentworth's Miss Silver novels (my current reading jag). They've got three weeks left before they close, and I've half a mind to go back later in the week for second helpings.