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When I was awaiting my hip replacement in 2009, my GP offered the opinion that I would never have a blood pressure problem. I wonder what she would have thought about my performance on the telephone today, much of which was again spent in frustrating negotiations about the mortgage. We were just about to set off with two full orange bags of clippings for the dump, when I learned that I had to make yet another call before we could be under way. I made the call. We then arrived at the dump just after it had closed.
A trip to the forest was in order.
Only a few specimen trees were beginning to change into their autumn robes. The others still retained their summer garb.
Smoky indigo clouds swirled over the moors,
the sun only periodically piercing their cover,
and lighting up the ponies,
and donkeys wandering about East Boldre,
where a woman had stopped her car and unloaded boxes of apples for their delectation.
Tanner’s Lane beach was awash with the highest tide we had ever seen there. As we contemplated this we reflected that, had this been today, Emma might have been under water.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb beef and mushroom pie; sautéed potatoes, carrots, and Brussels sprouts; and broccoli al dente. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank an excellent Finca Flichman reserve malbec 2015, given to me by Helen and Bill for my birthday.