I always forget

Needless to say I forgot to turn the clock back, relinquishing my extra hour in bed. I won’t deny our new residence requires far more input than the barn. ‘Active’ seems insufficient when describing the change in my routine – and I don’t mean escaping to the moor. I prefer not to dwell on what happens when the real work begins. Of an evening it’s all I can do to throw a log on the fire and reach for a bottle. Opening long-sealed packing cases has been something of a revelation. Five boxes are already winging their way to the local charity shop, leaving a decade’s worth of reading material stacked against the office wall. I’m reading a Dick Francis novel for old time’s sake. Outside the gold and russet of autumn predominates. Wood pigeons breakfast in the yard, critters scurry in all directions. The ponies do what ponies do: they endure.