I am getting ready for my trip to Italy. Oh what a worry it is all is, checking in on line, making sure I get to Gatwick on time, remembering to pack my blood pressure pills, and enough to read, then the fearful prospect of catching a train in Rome to the remote spot in Umbria where old friends P and J are already ensconced. However I went there once before at this time of year and it was warm and beautiful so hopefully it is worth all the angst.
It is festival time in Brighton and the streets are heaving with musicians, actors, young hopefuls, even the Quaker Meeting House today where I `m working for my Saturday stint has a play about evacuees which did not fit my memories at all of that era, still I enjoyed hearing the songs.
At home, a man comes to start on the roof, strips off the old stuff. He enters the kitchen for his cup of tea (two sugars)and shakes his head mournfully `there`s going to be trouble with that downpipe` he tells me, then discovers there are roadworks in South Street all next week so has gone away again. All this after the wettest April and May and ominous damp patches are appearing....