What a difference a day makes

 

As soon as I awoke I felt, well, rested. Does that make sense? A very quiet first day of vacation brought a degree of revival. I opened the patio door to allow Augie Dog out for his morning constitutional, while I made a lovely mug of tea. Then we retired back to the bedroom.

Mr FD is still sleeping in the spare room due to the difficulty of his nights, post operative. I am getting quite into the habit of sleeping alone, and I have to admit that I may just mourn it when he moves back in. The aristocracy were onto something there – I mean, it is just, so civilised. None of that, “now we all roll over and one falls out”; or “Who stole my blanket?” And if you have a sleepless night, your partner is not sentenced to one too.

I think Mr FD was up just about every hour on the hour until early morning, so Augie and I resolved (I did the resolving, he did the obeying, as it should be) that we would not wake him if possible. So, tea in hand I updated some social media.

Ten thirty and still no sign of Mr FD, so a check to see if he was still breathing (he was, obviously, or I would be writing an entirely different post… I think), before my tummy said “enough” and demanded breakfast.

Augie had toast and bacon; I feasted on avocado, bacon and egg on toast, with fresh tea. We breakfasted on the patio, and watched a couple of birds savour the bread treats I had thrown out for them.

Mr FD appeared just as Augie ate the last toast crust, I was benevolent and reopened the kitchen. Slow times.