From which this cat, Atticus Finch, gets his name. He was once a sleek and handsome cat. He is now 10, and very, very, very fat. I blame Andrew, who insists on feeding him 'special' food.
So anyway, nothing is happening as usual. Except that it seems to be spring. The plum tree is a mass of white blossom and bees are busily ensuring that we spend all summer sweeping squishy plums off the ground (they are full of fruit fly, which is why we don't eat them or turn them into jam). My bluebells are a bit stalky, but pretty, and the kaffir lime tree has an abundance of purply new growth.
Tomorrow I am going to Perth for a few days for another 40th birthday party. My friend Casey has been living in Perth for a while now, but I've never been there, so it will be interesting to see what it's like.
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