Wednesday. To bed and lights out by nine-thirty, yesterday's ‘tired’ perhaps leading to a decent night's sleep, to awaken at six-thirty. Could have been longer, but at least the head is better. I'd say clearer, but I'm often wrong about that when I look back on it later.

Up to walk to breakfast on a sunny morning, seemingly more people about, primarily running and cars on the road, arriving by eight and settling in at the temporary table in the blocked off dining area after turning on the lights. So far, so good.

The two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee, in that nothing else particularly appealed, finishing up by nine-thirty to walk home to take another series of flower pictures along Grand wondering if I was correctly judging the light. Not obsessing, you understand, our standards have backed way off in these last few years as we've moved more into “snap and shoot” than “get it right”. A picture of people exercising on the bars across Grand, some of the distances between them less than six feet, and the selfie in the apartment house lobby.

No Saint Stupid's Day Parade today with the coronavirus, not that I'd have photographed it if the world had been healthy, my last outing was in 2018. Miss not being up for shooting these. I do.

Later. The head is much better after yesterday's tiredness marathon, we'll see how long it manages to last.

Sunny outside, but no thought to take a walk. Maybe for the best. Watched some Britbox stuff on the tablet, listened to the news on television and futzed around on Facebook. Sounds vaguely familiar.

Evening. Not particularly tired, but the same old foggy headed enough to not do much other than continue with crap on the tablet. Not totally crap, it keeps me watching, but closer than we like to admit. Checked out Midsomer Murders for about five minutes, more out of habit than anything else, before going to bed. Lights out after listening to the BBC News.