A humid Thursday night, and I'm not where I expected to be. Today the annual Postcard Show opened in the Royal Horticultural Halls in London, and for months the date has been in my diary. I was planning to travel down today, stay overnight, do the fair tomorrow, and then come back in the evening. However .... things, as things tend to do, happened.
And so here I am, at home, not getting to the Fair for the fourth year in a row, and spending the day making marmalade instead, ready for my next Coffee Morning in a fortnight's time.
Out in the rural world the harvest is beginning to tail off. Many fields are now bare, with some even ploughed over ready for winter sowing. Yet there are still huge machines lumbering along our narrow lanes, taking the whole road width, and forcing drivers, unfortunate enough to meet them, into gateways and up onto verges. Some of the massive machines are also incredibly long, and from my window I watched a snake-like plough wiggle its way around the corner of my garden, brushing the hedge and rattling the trees. How the farmers ever think that these roads are suitable ... but then perhaps they don't consider that aspect of it when they buy their spanking new pieces of equipment.
Ah well .... at least I had a delicious dish of pork fillet in a home-made honey and mustard sauce tonight.