Summer vacation is over.

I have to go back to work today. I'm signed off for full duty and will have to stop going to 'summer camp' (Physical Therapy). It's always too soon, when you come down to the last days. I haven't written my novel or learned to play the dulcimer! And I am not anything like fluent in French.

But I did finish "We Didn't Mean To Go To Sea" (Arthur Ransome), so now I only have 4 books in progress. "The Hanging Tree" (Ben Aaranovitch), "The Vinyl Detective" Andrew Cartmell, "The Tragedy of Arthur" (Arthur Phillips) and "Northern Farm: a glorious year on a small Maine farm" (Henry Beston).

I hardly want to count that last, because I only read it when in the bathroom - it's a series of essays that so far mostly follow the theme of "the world is getting too easy and we will all lose our humanity without hard work to keep us real" - written in 1948. I want to come back to write about this more, when I can use a keyboard. I have no idea why I am trying to compose a post on my phone.

Also, why I am hanging around in my pyjamas, freezing! No idea!