Sunday

The country sky is blue with grey scattered clouds floating by. There is a chill in the air. The sun is luxuriously warm when shaded from the wind.. There is a gentle breeze.

The self help group are on the jetty, wailing heavenwards in thanks for all they have learned over the five day intensive.

I’m worthwhile. I’m genuine. I’m authentic.

I wish they'd go home. When we say 3 day intensive, everybody knows that is two and half days, with you leaving at lunch time.

I’m on my fifth joint and in trouble again for smoking pot in the house, making it smell like a Bedouin Joss house.

There time is up an hour, or so, after lunch, so I have decided to postpone my departure. If they’d been staying until tonight, or tomorrow, I’d be packing up the GTI and hoofing it back down the highway to peace and quiet. I’m sick of tip-toeing around. Well, not exactly, but it is good if their time in the house is up soon.

I sat and ate lunch on a seat that had daises growing up through it. Harry stretched out in front of me, on the sand, in front of the atrium door, and I thought that he was the last of the Fletcher Dynast Bedlington Terriers. Mum wont get another, I wouldn't think. But, at some point in the future somebody will refer to a funny blue dog and say to me, I bet you don’t know what sort of dog this is. And, of course, I’ll be able to respond with, It’s a Bedlington Terrier, of course.

Harry goes home Wednesday.

I didn’t think of David at the prescribed time of his birth, as promised. So what do I tell him? There's always next year.