An Albert Smithee Production

I was given A Presumption of Death for my birthday. It's the Jill Paton Walsh Lord Peter Wimsey book set in the early years of WWII. It's all right. Mostly it catches the right sort of tone, but there are moments when the vocabulary doesn't seem quite right—would DL Sayers have called a dress 'sexy-looking'? Could do better, I reckon. And the Wimseys seem to be unusually perspicacious about the likely course of the War. I realise that it must be hard to restrict a fictional character's knowledge of what is to come when you are writing in the 21st century, not while the war is actually in progress, but for me, too many hints at the future were irritating.
However. Not bad, for fanfic.

I did the cardio/toning class on Monday, and ventured back to Tough Yoga yesterday morning. I did everything (mostly on easy mode, but hey), and after lunch I was so exhausted I fell asleep.

My arms and inner thighs are still muttering at me, but today, I did useful work in the garden for a couple of hours. Something—I assume very hungry caterpillars—having eaten my lovingly cultivated kale and cauliflower plants, I bought defenses for them, and have planted the three extra kale plants I grew originally, plus seeds for kale, broccoli and Everlasting Spinach (we shall see), and the four eight ten red cabbage plants I picked up at the garden centre when purchasing the hoops and nets. Also a copious amount of hoeing, outright weeding, and put a couple more attempts at mange touts into the ground. There have been half a dozen or so peas on the m-t plants, but this is not a useful quantity.

Tonight, I go to the first evening of Drawing class!