And a swallow takes flight
After a weekend of fine weather to remind us just how fortunate we are to live in this part of the world, Monday dawns with grey skies and drizzly rain. Mr Grigg and I are recovering from grandparents' duties during which the four-year-old impressed us with her care and kindness towards the baby, 14 months. The weekend, however, began and ended at the Sheepwashes, with a simple supper (more like a banquet, actually. Anyone would think Pelly was working towards her cookery badge in the Girl Guides) on Friday and then Pimms yesterday evening. And when the sun went down, the chimnea kept us warm and cosy. It was a good weekend after a harrowing Friday in which 401 people attended the funeral of a local man whose death has hit us all so badly. He was 53 and took his own life. In the words of his father, such a wicked waste of a brilliant mind. As his coffin lay with the Union Flag draped over it in front of the altar, his two lovely children being comforted by their mother, a swallow s...