These Are the Days

Apr 20, 2020 | Covid-19 Diary, Dead Water

My favoured method of making bread is to make a rough mix of the dough last thing at night, cover the bowl with cling film, then go to bed. In the morning it’s risen and ready to knead then put in a bread tin to prove, then bake. Easy, and the overnight rise lets the gluten get to work properly so there’s a decent texture to the loaf.

That worked, as it usually does, but in between I had the weirdest dream, weird enough to remember the essence, which is unusual for me. In it, I was about to get married (to Kirstin) when I realised I hadn’t got a suit to wear. I went out to find one, but all the shops were closed because of the virus. Eventually I found a pair of tailors to make one, but they kept messing up so I was late. I sent my best man round to the church to say I was on my way, but then I was going round and round the streets in a panic unable to find the venue.

Answers on a postcard…

Coffee was required after that, and a sneaky download of last night’s Westworld. It’s fashionable to knock Westworld, but I still enjoy it and I’m enjoying series 3. The sun was out by then and I spent a long time sitting out the front of our house out of the breeze (which was chilly). It was warm in the sun, though; so warm that my shorts made their first appearance of the year. I sat in the clean air and relative peace and quiet and caught up on back issues of magazines. Most especially I did what I’m trying quite hard to do now, which is to stay off social media except for short bursts at meal times.

After yesterday’s extended cycle, I stayed off the bike today but went for a longer walk this evening. Part of my route is along what used to be the Corstorphine Branch Line before Dr. Beeching ruined it all. It’s now a pathway, but the old Pinkhill Station platforms are still there. As I was walking between them, I heard the rattling of a modern train off in the distance, but in the clear night air it was like an oncoming ghost train.

The path is tree-lined and there are a lot of birds around after the mild winter, mostly wood pigeon and blackbirds, disturbed only by the child doing cartwheels on a green of the local golfcourse.

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Music tonight is a Michael Nesmith song, originally written in 1964 before he joined The Monkees, and a hit in 1967 for The Stone Poneys (sic) featuring Linda Rondstadt. Here it’s performed by 5’2″ of hotness, who also sang the song I was originally going to post and from which the title of this post is lifted. Confused? You will be.