sunday soft grey morning with birds warbling and muted in cotton wool silence. when I woke there was a wash of golden light  hitting all the contours of the ranges outside the bedroom window. Now,  crisp three-dimensionality has dissolved into flat smoky forgetfulness. Not even 7a.m and I am lieing in bed, sunday morning indulgence, reading. 'Far From The madding Crowd' Thomas Hardy. From the library. My girlfriends and I when we were about 13 adored the movie - handsome rakish Terence Stamp, gorgeous Julie Christie. She's nothing like the dark-haired Bathsheba in the book. Don't know if I'll get right through it.

The weekend has been a tumble of activities on top of eachother - market, soccer club end-of-season break-up, book club, lunch with jenny at the art gallery...

when I arrived to collect F. from the under 12 soccer team get together he didn't see me arrive. So I got to spy on him and his mates for a few minutes. A mob of 12  year old boys - noisy, self conscious gawky creatures, on the cusp of puberty. When I'd left a couple of hours earlier they were playing a gentlemanly game of backyard cricket. Now all of them were drenched, all of them were shreiking and yelling and jumping on and off the trampoline.  A couple , including F,  had enormous bright coloured plastic water pistols and were ejaculating long hard streams of water on their friends.  Like machine gunners in a Hollywood war movie.

I don't often see the Rambo side of my son. It was a good reminder.

tomorrow is monday, too soon, I want a Day Of Rest