42nd with sunshine.

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That was what’s called a good day by most folk, also by me. The garden is coming to life under the influence of more hours of daylight and higher temperatures, and the sun shone like it was the first time it had ever seen the earth. Clean clothes flapped and dried on the washing line above fresh, unmown grass. And today is the 42nd anniversary of the day when I first stepped out with what was become my wife. We went to a Greek restaurant in Portrush. All day we had blue sky, blue sky and birdsong. Now we’ve got moonlight flooding the garden with the clouds still all gone. Moonlight strong enough to read by. People have been landing in planes from Muscat and other places in the Middle East, mostly holiday makers who are easy prey for journalists trying to persuade horror stories out of them. Stories of bombs and drones. They all seem to oblige.