Waking up with an open window, and the sunlight streaming in. All is quiet inside, as I drink a cup of tea in bed. I listen to the birdsong outside; robin, wren, dove, goldfinch, rook, gull and blackbird. My own morning symphony.
Olly finally wakes up, and jumps into bed for cuddles. "Tickle my feet!" he demands. I oblige, and we end up tickling each other until one of us yells "mercy!"
I open up the house, unload the dishwasher, load the washing machine, make more tea, grab a book and settle down in the conservatory. It has already been warmed by the sun.
I watch our visiting blackbird pull a huge worm out of the garden. He meticulously breaks in into smaller pieces, and flies off to the hedge at the bottom of the garden. Not long after a female blackbird appears, and does the same. I wonder whether we have a nesting pair. That would be wonderful.
The sky is bright blue. There isn't a cloud. I watch a plane travel across the azure expanse. I watch the birds fly to and fro. I notice that the blossom on the pear tree is out.
I worry a little about Sam, who is travelling to Liverpool from Bristol this morning, to meet up with friends. He is as green as the grass, and I imagine all sorts of disasters. I wonder how I will cope when he moves up there in September. Badly, I suppose.
Olly and me go outside. I hang washing on the line, and then start weeding in my pyjamas. Olly calls me over to see a butterfly. He tells me that it is a Peacock. She's a bit battered on one of her wings, but is busy flitting about the Anemones. It is our first one of the year, and we duly log it on the app on my phone.
A little while later, a Small Tortoiseshell is spotted. Followed by a small blue. There are bumblebees and pollinators a-plenty. I am in heaven.
I notice the shoots of new growth all around me. The garden is still mostly shades of green, but I can see that it will be a riot quite soon. I'm hoping for an unruly bed head of a garden this summer. All higgledy piggledy and fabulous.
I open up the greenhouse. Marc has fixed the shattered glass, and my seedlings are romping away. The sweet peas are probably ready to plant out. A job for next week.
Marc goes and gets Betty, and we pack her up for a day of adventuring. Olly wears Crocs. I wear flip flops. Alfie takes off his hoody.
We drive to The Lizard, and stop at Cadgwith and Kynance Cove. We eat ice cream, and enjoy the sunshine. I enjoy photographing the wild flowers, and admire the thatched cottages.
I try to explain to Alfie the beauty of a wooden hut whose yellow paint is peeling, and has faded curtains in its' windows. He is unmoved.
Olly jumps the waves, and plays on the sand. He collects a bucketful of pebbles, and some flotsam from the beach. He strips down to his pants and runs about with gay abandon. Alfie takes off his socks and wriggles his toes in the sunshine.
Marc and I squabble about a lost bread knife, and a rusty can opener. Then we hold hands as we climb down to the beach.
We reluctantly return home. Alfie wants to stay on his rock in the sun. Olly would like another ice cream. Marc is not looking forward to a return to work. I think about all sorts.
The long weekend has been blissful. Full of stuff. Good stuff. And far too much chocolate. Deliciously Ella anyone?