There is no guest picture today and a very short post because the pain in my hip is stubbornly reluctant to ease off and I spent almost all day sitting in the only chair that was at all comfortable, hoping that things would get better.
Having had long term back problems, I have many exercises which work well when I mistreat my back and it complains and I am usually back to normal quite quickly. This present trouble arises from a trapped nerve in my pelvis I am told and I can’t find an exercise to shift it at all so I am trying complete rest as far as my naturally restless nature will let me.
Tomorrow is our Common Riding Day, a big moment in the town’s year and with a bit of luck, a good night’s rest will let me get out and about a bit to enjoy the festivities. I am not overly optimistic though.
Mrs Tootlepedal has added her little bit to the celebrations as yesterday Alan came round to pick some of our rambler roses to help make up the Crown, one of the emblems carried in procession tomorrow.
I did take a picture or two in the garden today as I got up and stretched my legs from time to time through the day.
The insect hovered above the marigold in such a still way that I thought that my camera might catch it in the air but it was wobbling more than it seemed. I liked the picture anyway.
Matilda arrived with her parents in the evening after a long and hot day in two trains. Under the circumstances, she was very equable but I don’t like to bother her to pose for pictures. Mrs Tootlepedal took her out for a calming walk in the pram to visit some of the neighbours. They were suitably honoured to meet the world’s finest baby.
Later in the evening, the streets resounded to the beat of the drum and the shrill cry of flutes as the flute band marched through the town having gone to meet returning exiles from the nine o’clock train. The fact that this train last ran in the 1960s doesn’t stop the flute band from going to greet it.
I hobbled along the street to catch them as they went past…..and past….and past….
…as there were more than forty flautists, not to mention the drummers and a host of triangle players following in their wake. Some, but by no means all of them, will be up at five o’clock tomorrow morning to march round the town again to wake the burghers up in time for the great day.
A blue tit obliged in one of my brief looks out of the kitchen window and appears as flying bird of the day.