Wednesday. Lights out before ten to then sleep straight through until six-twenty, getting what I was thinking must have been a good, fairly long, night's rest. Up slowly to get ready to set out for breakfast, the sky overcast, but warm enough walking, the eyes behaving, to arrive not long after seven, the restaurant open, but just. OK, turns out we were lucky to have set out later than usual after all.
The two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast and coffee breakfast, the weight on the scale this morning right on target. Finished by eight-thirty and so back to pass by another one of the Bird scooters, by the flowers below the Lakeside school and then on to take what have now become the usual shots. Even I may become tired of taking scooter pictures, but I guess not quite yet.
Tired when I got home and so posted yesterday's entry to then immediately fall on the bed and lie down for an hour and a half's nap, some of which I would describe as close to actual sleep. Tired.
Bright sun while walking home, bright sun now that it's much later as I write, the England-Croatia match on television, although I'm not really paying all that much attention. The accomplishment of the day, so far, is to have skipped doing laundry.
Later. Still tired and so more of this lying down business, a blood pressure reading taken at two-fifteen (115/76), which didn't allow me to put the blame there, and so add the usual television and radio news and that's been about it.
Evening. Watched a program on Alfred Lee Loomis at seven on PBS, stayed to watch the first few minutes of Midsomer Murders, on I hadn't seen before, but decided I didn't need to see at all and so to bed to pick up on a Netflix series on the tablet called The Forest. French and so far so good, although I've had this feeling I've seen it before and have been wondering, if true, how far the memory has gone around the bend.