Finishing a box set such as the handmaids tale is a cause for muted celebration, but celebration  none the less, the ending; well I’m not going to spoil it but I fail to see what else could be done if they actually did have plans to stop the show, it could have gone for a few more seasons, but I believe they’ve bowed out with a bit of a civilised whimper, great series all told. Personally, the end of the show couldn’t have come sooner, it prevented me from writing for a couple of months; writer’s block bought on from  cowering behind my hands, the hideousness of an infertile population portrayed in horrific detail. The only respite from this found in seeds; chilli and coriander planted in my pots, grass seeds planted in the rough muddy area at the bottom of my garden and assorted pick and mix style seeds provided for our feathered friends and loaded into the feeders, waiting for a woodpecker to come. The rain has come, in spades and filled buckets and the new tree with white blossom which begins with A has been planted in the middle of our raised garden area about 6 inches into the clay, which was under about 8 inches of normal soil, this tree is looking mighty fine and will hopefully break its way into the clay podzols (GCSE Geography you’ll find)

So what’s next? Dog walks and coffee, fitness with an aim to get beach presentable? That ship has sailed although I do get fed algorithms alerting me to the 7 minute get fit chair challenge, which I simply don’t have the time for. Feeling a bit lost prose wise, the thoughts are there, but the inclination ain’t, which is the problem I have identified, this must change.

Under his eye