Perfect Day

Today has been, by Mz Kitty's definition, perfect.

A run in the morning as the sun is getting up, through a frosty white Victoria Park with noone but the hardiest souls sharing the glories of a still winter's morning.

My sourdough bread finally, after two years of experimentation, rose to the occasion and actually looked almost like a proper sourdough.

Then on to join thousands of like minded souls in the streets of London, reminding the newly inaugurated President Trump et al that we will be watching them.

Back to the marché for my coffee and the London Review of Books, to finish reading a 10,000 word essay on the life and works of David Bowie, some esoteric poetry, and squeezing in the latest instalment of Alan Bennett's diary for good measure (which I shouldn't really find as interesting as I do).

Home just in time to receive my new Salomon gortex-lined trail runners (although feet still slightly encrusted from last Sunday's mud so might wait a few weeks before christening them properly).

Some more baking of chocolate custard tarts, complete with home made flaky pastry.

Then anticipating a few hours in front of the goggle box with my fella (who did all the cooking yesterday for the coming week) watching Taboo and finishing a jumper.

It can only be bettered by the knowledge that tomorrow is Jane Austin, Cocktails and Knitting Appreciation Society day!

I suspect I may have hit seasonally adjusted middle age, where the desire to go out dancing in winter is outweighed by the desire to stay on a comfy sofa.