Forest spirit

Me, a month ago, to myself: Ronni, you are not allowed to buy any more things from sellers based in the United States until their postal service is free from political interference and the consequent massive delays in shipping.

Me, yesterday, to myself: But betsiewithey has just started selling oak leaf earrings.

It is a dilemma, that's for sure.

In the lingering light

Today is a public holiday, and I had initially thought I would end up spending it at home, watching the rain fall. But the weather forecast changed, and it was sunny enough to go on a little wander through the fields to Coton, a village nearby, and sit outdoors in the beer garden of the pub. Here's a photoset, with bonus swans.

August has been a weird month for me, compared to the preceding five months of lockdown. I don't know if it was the heat, or my own mental exhaustion, but I felt myself slowing down, and, with the sole exception of swimming, had really limited energy to spare on anything. As a result, I've barely read anything, and barely finished any TV series.

Most of what I read was rereads, many of which have been mentioned in previous posts, apart from Samantha Shannon's new Bone Season novella, 'The Dawn Chorus'. I read this for the first time so recently that my review of it still remains the newest post on my reviews blog: basically, it combines two of my favourite things: a relationship with a massive power imbalance, and lots of hurt/comfort. In other words, it is my kind of book, hence the reread only a month after I read it initially. The only other book I read this month not mentioned in a previous blog post is Crimson Angel, the thirteenth book in Barbara Hambly's Benjamin January mystery series. I like the books in this series set in New Orleans, but I also enjoy those that give insight into the wider world — as this one does, being set partially in Cuba, and Haiti. The plot, as always, was vaguely ridiculous (hidden treasure, scandalous family secrets, murderous pursuit), but I read these books for the characters and setting, and am quite forgiving of the melodramatic plots that form the scaffolding for the former.

In terms of TV, I've only finished watching two things: the latest series of Lucifer (an utterly ridiculous, over the top delight), and The Deceived, a modern-day gothic BBC miniseries which leans heavily on the plot and tropes of Rebecca. Parts of it take place in Cambridge (the heroine is a student having an affair with her university lecturer), and Matthias and I delighted in yelling at the TV: 'That's not how Cambridge works! That's not how any of this works!' I was mostly watching for the settings: Cambridge, and the wilder, beautiful parts of Donegal in Ireland.

In the time I've been writing this post, the sun has completely left our garden, everything is a lot colder, and a definite chill has entered the air. I will finish things off, therefore, so that I can close the doors into the courtyard, put on warmer clothing, and do a bit of yoga to warm up!