Well it's glorious outside. The sun is streaming through the windows, melting the tiny flurry of snow that we had in St Ives last night. You would have thought that there were three feet drifts, the way the children ran and frolicked in the playground before school. Of course it's all gone now, but Olly did save some and put it in the feezer this morning.
I had hoped to walk the length and breadth of St Ives today, but have been up most of the night with a rotten tum. So I'm sat in repose on the sofa (not too far from the loo), catching up on Broadchurch and Call The Midwife. Broadchurch ended on a rather sinister note. Call The Midwife made me cry with impotent fury. I do that a lot; rage impotently at the world. I rather suspect we all do from time to time.
This month's read is a veritable doorstop of a book. 'The Luminaries' by Eleanor Caton. It's been sat on the shelf for a wee while staring at me, tutting. I also have some new (to me) gardening books, and I quite fancy a little dip into some Ted Hughes poetry. I was listening to Radio 4 on my way back from Bristol, and one of his poems was read out during a regular poetry feature. It gave me a yearning to return to those poems of the pike and the crow.
Last month I read 'H Is For Hawk' by Helen MacDonald. I mention it again because it was rather wonderful. Helen is an experienced falconer, who trains a young Gosshawk, Mabel, following the sudden death of her beloved father. The book is a very raw and honest account of loss. It is beautifully written; intelligent, witty, deeply sad, uplifting and fascinating. It's won an award, but don't let that put you off. I think you'd really enjoy it.
Joining in with Laura