I filled an old jug with cider, grabbed a couple pieces of toast and an old wooden spoon. Twelfth Night. Time to wassail the oldest apple tree.
One of these days I feel sure that someone is going to see me and wonder why I am wearing a flower bestrewn old straw hat as I walk around an apple tree, pouring cider from the jug, beating the tree with a wooden spoon. They may catch sight of the toast lodged up in the branches and wonder even more as they hear me recite:
Here's to thee, old apple tree
Whence thou mayst bud and thou mayst blow
Hats full, caps full,
Bushel, bushel bags full,
And a little heap under the stairs.
It was great fun.
The excitement for Thursday was the delivery of the vegetable box. Keith and Dawn, landlords of the village pub, offered this service way back when Lockdown I began and when it was difficult to get a supermarket delivery slot, they were also able to obtain bags of flour - at that time it was almost impossible to obtain flour any other way. I make most of our bread, so I was very grateful.
Friday dawned, daughter and son-in-law were both in school. I kept an eye on the grandchildren.
The internet connection continues to give problems. Sometimes everything is as it should be, then it disappears. Worse things happen at sea.