Steady

Well, I finished the course in Anglo Saxon; felt sad for a bit; started another one. I even translated a bit of King Alfred which was easier than the poetry. He seemed like he meant well.

I am also having a little break from all things Englisc by reading some light novels (Jasper Fforde, Alexander McCall Smith) and trying to take it easy for a bit. Life outside the 5th-11th centuries has been a little demanding ….

It’s funny, I think anyway, how often one reads blog posts apologising for not posting and mentioning how busy life has been. As if we need to justify why we don’t post up all the time. I hereby pass that monkey on, don’t need it.

Anyway, the main excitement this weekend is the attempted construction of a tiny greenhouse to grow some tomatoes in and to store plants over winter if necessary. The frame went up pretty quickly yesterday, but putting the glass in has been on hold today due tot eh ridiculously windy conditions. So the tomatoes will have to live a little longer in the washroom, along with the chilli pepper, red pepper, courgette, squash and pumpkin. We were going to put the last 3 of those out this weekend but St Monty Don advised against it for another couple of weeks for those of us up North. And he would know better than we.

One other thing I have managed to do recently is sort through some of my books and identify a number to be thrown out. Yes, that’s right. I am an alien who has taken over the person who usually writes this journal.

To be fair I was going to put them in boxes in the loft, but finally recognised that a bunch of books on how to develop an intranet written in 1996 were probably of limited value. The theology books can be donated to the local meeting house library. Some might find a new owner via a charity shop. However, the texts I used for my MA are now so dated and irrelevant I can see no use for them any more. Some items remain safe – children’s books for example. Equally I know there are a number of computer books in the loft already which are hilariously dated and need to be recycled as something more useful.

It must be something in the sunshine, or the water, that is making me uncharacteristically relaxed about getting rid of my precious treasures. Maybe it’s senility. After all, I age.

Wesaþ ge hal

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