In the last week or so I have added a new morning ritual.

My morning rituals occur, in no particular order . The earliest they start is at 2:30 am, if insomnia kicks in, the latest start time would be about 6:30.

The first one is always the Wordle of the day. Today was a good one.

After that in no particular order:-

Tea

Coffee

Plan but not always write the blog

• The new ritual is reading blogs written on this day since 2017.

I have loved reading my ponderings presented as a historic daily timeline.

Starting sporadically in 2017 but developing into a daily habit. Reading them as a record of my life and the world around me is surprisingly enjoyable. And yet why would I not enjoy it. The published diaries of famous people have always fascinated me alongside the daily records of ordinary people,which are far less available, but almost more interesting because of their rarity.

I have promised not to share them too often here, but sometimes I will . Today I thought I might share the little pleasures I have taken in this last week.

We have three granddaughters, two live abroad and we do not see them often enough. For a long time a little pair of turquoise crocs were by our backdoor, we couldn’t bear to tidy them up because they belonged to a small person many thousands of miles away. These orange crocs belong to a small person just 10 miles away.

This dahlia bloomed on the day we attended our first Covid era video funeral. A dearly cherished friend had planned his own funeral. It was the most beautiful and haunting experience. A funeral with no hugs, no human touches of condolence and love. A funeral we didn’t walk away from. The live stream just stopped, and there we were in our own sitting room, a bit wrung out and wondering what on earth we had just witnessed.

Not all June blogs make me sad, thank goodness.

The Bobbers pop up pretty often in my blog of the repetitive nature of daily life.

June is also not spared my occasional strong opinions.

A year ago I went to see The Salt Path, a film of a book that I always thought was a work of fiction tethered loosely on truth and reality. Just weeks after this film was released, Raynor Winn the author and advisor on the film was exposed as being economical with the truth.

Oh my inner bitch rejoiced. I had so often disagreed with people ( the majority) who thought the book and the author were wonderful. The inner art bitch also got an outing for this blog in 2025. I stuck three of my own different coast path locations together to illustrate a fictional coast path location. Raynor Winn, of course has made millions from her falsehoods. Me nothing.

Which is why my blogs will always be from the perspective of an ordinary person. Who only occasionally lets the inner bitch out!

Here is a really old blog, very far from daily. From a time when I hoped to be a proper ‘Arts’ writer. Like so many things ,Brexit and Covid, put a stop to that aspiration. As one aspiration slams a door the draft forces another door open. Daily blogging slipped in quietly when the other door closed.