Change of plan

Well, so much for the Baltic cruise this summer.  We may be over-cautious, but can see that the current UK-Russia spat could lead to  all sorts of aggro, such as unpleasantness towards Brits (notably male Brits who happen to love each other), cruise ship visa waiver withdrawal etc.  Not that I could express a view, I've heard it suggested that the Leader of HM Opposition seems to have forgotten that said republic is no longer a socialist paradise, but rather a haven for organised crime and profiteering.  Discuss.

Cutting a brief story briefer, we have moved our booking from the Bessie to the Vicky, and shall be doing the Medi instead.  Among the attractions of the Baltic cruise were the chance to see Tallinn, and to sail through the archipelago into Stockholm.  We can do that easily enough with Easyjet, the ferry companies and rented flats.  And the Medi will be warmer.  And we sail from So'ton on the 68th anniversary of a certain date.

Queen Elizabeth from kitchen window

I started late for art class this morning, following entirely uncontentious debate on the above.  I then realised, part-way there, that I had neither my phone (reminded by the screen on the dashboard) nor my wallet.  Armed with the above, I started again, just as some slightly older neighbours were setting out to walk to the bus stop in the rain, hence a very slight detour to where they were heading.  I arrived about three quarters of an hour later than usual, which was a Good Thing, since the longer I spend on a piece, the worse it gets.  Par conséquent, I knocked out in about an hour a little watercolour vignette with which I'm not too displeased.  I think I may stretch  a few pieces of watercolour paper and try to get back into the medium.  It can be vastly frustrating, but so rewarding when one gets it right-ish.

The landscapers came along this afternoon to have a look at the moss out the front, and to measure up.  We were rather shocked to learn that Mark, our usual contact, is off work for some time following a heart attack.  Aged 50, and apparently fit as a butcher's dog.  Carpe diem.