Dead partridges. The post GCSE era beginneth again.

One of the partridges nesting in the meadow has been killed. I presume by a cat. Left all mangled. So upsetting. I love seeing the line of little chicks running around in the yard. That won't be happening this year. Do partridges pair for life? Don't know. Hope not. Having a broken heart in the meadow seems so sad.

Have just been trying, and failing, to send money via Western Union to Peru, to retrieve a camera left by Daughter on Gap Year. It is not possible to send online, so I shall have to actually get up and go to an agent and send money like in the old days. Mostly I quite like the old days, but right now, looking out at driving rain, I am feeling less enamoured. Incidentally, this rain will completely knock every poppy petal off. Disappointing.

I am not in a particularly up beat mood. 

Plus I have physio later today - more ferocious massage of the tethered scar tissue.

First Son is home! Finished GCSEs yesterday. He lies sleeping in his lair as I write. Building his strength up for a couple of parties before knuckling down to some hard core work experience back at his old school. He will be Canterbury clad, and revelling in the adoration of little children. Think his ego is quite probably large enough already. But still. The alternative, him lying on the sofa flicking through sky options, leaving half drunk cans of coke and cheese crumbs everywhere, is more 'in my face' unappealling. Anyway. It will do him good. Plus he will get all the gossip from the staff room, which I might enjoy.