But now there's the Silver Hammer. Onward. Will have a session with my personal genius Matt tonight, to get me back into the cloud and to download Office and get my camera, printer, and phone linked up. Can't post pictures yet.
Very hot today but with a breeze; editor friend Rosemary was just here for lunch on the deck, as we sweated and drank and got caught up. For dessert we walked to the end of the garden and picked raspberries to scatter on ice cream.
Wanted to say and couldn't because of no computer - that at Ruth's cottage I finished Middlemarch. What a joy. It was difficult and long, lengthy passages about 19th century issues incomprehensible to a modern reader, but George Eliot's humour and wit, the depth of her understanding of all her characters, major and minor - breathtaking. Magnificent.
And - the Wimbledon final was tragic. All of us, surely all the world, was rooting for the marvellous, indomitable Federer, grand old man at 37. At the end, after more than 4 hours of exhausting play, he was up several points, just needed to finish the job to win - and he missed two shots and lost. This is a man who has hit a tennis ball a trillion times, but the two times he needed most to hit it perfectly, he didn't. How cruel is that! I know, the firstest of first world problems, but still. Djokovic is like a tennis machine. We love our Fed.
However, as compensation, Grantchester was back Sunday night with the divine James Norton. But sadness again - it was his last show. Talk about eye candy. Come back, luscious James.
Okay, so here she is, drivelling on because she can. I've missed being able to zip out a message to you. The Silver Hammer and I - onward.
PS 9 p.m. All working.
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