The warmth seems to have brought a flurry of activity. Neighbours are painting fences, tidying & planting in the garden, building schemes undertaken. We meanwhile sit back & take it easy. I'm tempted to do my bit in the garden, but Al, our gardener, came earlier in the week. By the time he'd mown the lawn & tidied some of the shrubbery our green bin is full. Although I feel the urge to weed one patch, with nowhere to put the rubbish it's a waste of time. Still it's probably as well. I need an easyish time if we're off to France soon.
The if hangs over us. One friend, Helen, is hoping to be off to Cyprus next week. She's not packed yet. She's waiting to see if planes are likely to be flying by then. She's consoling herself with the thought that she's better in the comfort of her own home, than trying to sleep in an overcrowded airport or being stuck abroad with no cash left.
We were surprised, though, to hear a plane overhead yesterday. It was just a single prop one, rather than a jet. But it was in the air. I can't say the lack of overhead planes has made much difference here, though I can understand the bliss of only hearing the sound of birds tweeting & bees buzzing in Richmond, usually under the flightpath of Heathrow airport, that was exemplified on the radio this morning. In my childhood we used to live not far from Manchester airport. Indeed I worked there one summer when I was at university. I was far more aware of the sight & sound of planes then.
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