The press was a birthday present: I remember waking up in a deckchair to find a man assembling it on the grass in front of me. [This theme of sleep.] Another memory: waking up after a late night at the hospital to find a plumber (a friend) leaning over me to get at the radiator behind the bed. He was fixing the heating; I was awake enough to say "She's a girl!" before going back to sleep. Third child, who is away with friends this weekend.
Enough remembering. I shall finish fiddling about with the page of [two] books to sell, then I'll get to the apples. Unless the inner me decides he needs a siesta the same way that last night he imposed the early night. I wonder, sometimes, where that fairytale came from about the castle's population sleeping for a hundred years. What a changed landscape, society, world we'd be born (wake) into if we took that long a leave of absence. This afternoon ... is another afternoon. Maybe a bonfire.
And the dog is looking at me across the table. A walk, I think.