Eight years ago in June 2005 almost to the day, I gave in to a whim. The idea of writing a blog on a regular daily basis had appealed because for some time, I had been used to responding to deadlines, which had gradually dropped off. Gradual retirement had dulled the edge of urgency in my life. A blog every day might restore it. But from what angle? From what starting point? I didn't want a daily beef. Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells was too easy, so much there was to be disgusted about. It would have been dull, stale and unprofitable. Three Beautiful Things Clare Grant's seminal blog (still flourishing ) provided the answer. What a lovely idea! To note every day three inspiring, amusing or curious events or objects was the perfect model. It has proved both a therapy and simple pleasure. A source of friendship too. Above all it has made me sensitive to the world around me, to the place where I am lucky enough to live and to the people who inhabit it. Sometimes I think that I should look back to trace the rich and varied pattern of a life obscure and insignificant, made up of innumerable small things, but taken together become I hope enlightening, a history composed of chance moments.
A walk in the vegetable garden this morning. No chores apart from watering a few plants in the greenhouse. Outside the soft rain was warm and gentle, falling with a sort of kindness as only rain in this damp country can fall when it is needed in a green summer. You could feel the herbs growing in the herb bed responding to the water and the temperature. The scent of oils and resins suspended in the air. Back indoors I realised that my clothes were not really wet, the skin on my face and bare arms was moist as though subjected to a rare and expensive therapy.