Woke up at 5:30 — the power of routine being what it is — and went for a gentle run-walk, easing myself back to real exercise. It’s just as well I did; various bones, joints, and muscles let me know that they doubted the value of this so-called ‘exercise’, and pouted when I persisted in running or walking. Still, my tie didn’t differ drastically from a slow day’s running, and as I passed Albert Park (a) I glimpsed the encampment of Travellers there (very concerning to Christ’s Hospital, which owns the park; I haven’t heard any parish feedback about it) and (b) a dog-walking pedestrian who waved as if he recognised me, though I didn’t see him clearly enough to clock his identity.
Returned for my cup of coffee. We have no fruit in the larder, so I drank coffee unsupported by breakfast fruits, then showered, then attended Morning Prayer and strode home for my second cup and for toast.
While catching up with email, I discovered that our Monday photographer had indeed emailed her photos to me, but our email agent (a formerly famously anti-evil corporation, now dismissing every impediment to villainous world domination) had consigned the images to the spam bin! Can you believe it? This is what a long-haired, beardy priest-theologian looks like after fifteen or twenty minutes in the Bristol Channel/Irish Sea/Atlantic Ocean:
I have a morning appointment with my GP to see whether I should be referred to a specialist about my ringing ears (not so much tinnitus, though what rock’n’roller doesn’t have at least a little tinnitus? More like patulous Eustachian tube dysfunction, though I’m not presuming any specific diagnosis), and various catching-up obligations to sort through the remainder of the afternoon, but I’ll try to keep things cooool as I modulate back into parish life.