swish

Big brown river muscling its way downstream. One wise robin in the hedge and two soggy spuggies on top of the hedge because they haven't the sense to get out of the rain.

Yesterday I had an injection to ease my back and already I feel lots better for it. I took ina book by Elizabeth Goudge, one of my favourite authors, and was just up to a really exciting bit with an earthquake when they wheeled me into theatre. Fortunately it was all done under local anaesthetic so I could go straight back to my book afterwards. I was home by midday and spent the afternoon curled up in bed, watching the rain outside and giggling smugly to myself.

By this evening I was well enough to walk along to the church hall where our local style guru Tracey had organised a swishing party, ie, clothes swapping. It was only a quid for admission, and donations to an excellent charity, Stop the Traffick. I took along some tops which I hardly ever wear but which were quickly snapped up, and came home with a top, a skirt, and two men's jackets. The denim one is for whichever of the chaps here would like it, and the worn and faded leather one, which used to belong to the vicar is FOR ME. There's something about a small woman in a big jacket, especially a bloke's jacket.

I told the vicar I would treasure it as a holy relic. And promised his wife I'd give it a bit of shoe polish.