There is a muscle in the inner of my right thigh that is screaming in a way that makes even the thought of a yoga class excruciating.

Instead the scones are baked and cooling (and delicious !), laundry is washing and drying in our wonder-appliances, and there is a small grey cat squeaking little cat sounds who wants to be picked up and held.

The Amelie soundtrack is pouring out of an old set of wooden speakers and for just a slice of time the world seems to be made all of cushiony softness and blunt round edges.

There's the possibility of a snail's pace walk and some gentle stretching in my afternoon and a small assortment of domestic chores that need tending to.

There is an extra scone or two, some heavenly tart marmalade, and spiced cider, hot chocolate, or loose leaf chai with a splash of milk and honey should you happen to stop by.