I am looking after Jumble while J and Co go off to Morocco for half term. He looks puzzled, lying in his bed in the cubby hole under the stairs. I have taken him out three times today, the first time before dawn. I worry that he is bored. It is like when the grandchildren come and feel I need to do cooking activities or cutting out and sticking. He does seem perfectly happy, in spite of the fact that I have been sternly told not to spoil him with titbits or treats.
I have a Kindle, sent from USA by son W as a birthday present. It is very light and thin, not much bigger than a postcard, and it seems unbelievable that I could read the whole of Dickens or Jane Austen on it, also the Oxford English dictionary,(which will be very helpful for the Guardian crossword)
I am listening to Poetry Please on Radio 4 as I write this. I think back to all the years and years I have listened to this programme on a Sunday afternoon and always intend to send a request and never do, perhaps I will today?