It's been appreciably cooler today, which simply means normal for the time of the year. My day started early. I woke up around 4.30, which means a good night (anything before 3 is bad news) and was relaxedly scrolling on my phone - at that moment wrestling with New York Times Connections, having already solved Wordle - when the cat sat up and started licking her lips. That's not good. I got up and walked round the bed to her, she started vibrating and that does not mean purring. It was more of a full body thing than that. I picked her up, decided we wouldn't make it downstairs and held her over the washbasin. She was not happy.
One furball later, neatly deposited in the sink, I took her downstairs and invited her to go outside.Ten minutes later, having cleaned the basin (it was not one of the dry furballs, it would have been most unpleasant in bed), I invited her back in. She ignored me, indignant.
Anyway, I had a nap later before getting up, so the morning hadn't started too badly.
Yesterday, Ro came over, as he'd been invited to a get-together later with a group of friends and I'm on his way. But when he arrived, he was massively distressed. He'd just had a text from the wife of a friend of his. The night before, M had a heart attack, was revived by the paramedics but tests had shown he was brain dead. His wife had to tell a few people and then asked Ro to tell the rest of his friends.
I only met M a couple of times, when they were all at school together. He was a year older than Ro, only 43. Forty three. He'd had a medical a few months ago, because he and G were adopting a baby and they both needed checkups. Nothing showed. Lovely man, a lovely couple, now G is a widow with a young baby. If I'm as upset as I am, I can only imagine how very hard it is for his wife, family and friends, as well as Ronan who was a close friend. They used to see each other every couple of weeks.
I've nearly finished the china, up to Lot 100 of 102, but then there are the books, around a dozen of them. I also have to label the china. It's in my very secure big dining room and then it'll all be put in the strong room, which is so secure that the police let the Sage keep his guns in there without a gun cupboard (obviously, as I don't have a licence, I don't have them any more). Russell didn't kill but he was a crack shot with a rifle to a target. He liked the 1,000 yards distance best, which I can't begin to imagine. A bullseye, at least 9 times out of 10, at more than half a mile. Beyond belief to me. He loved to calculate the distortion (mirage), trajectory and even curvature of the earth, all in his head, before he fired. Shooting a pheasant was too easy and he didn't want to kill for sport.
It'll be an early start tomorrow, as we're off on a coach trip, all highly cultural of course. We need to leave home by 7 o'clock. The cats will be surprised. Then a couple of fairly busy days, then I'm off to the caravan, possibly for the last time, on Friday.
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