But I can *sing* in the wardrobe!*
Storming recording session on Sunday with the new recording booth - my wardrobe. No, really - the mic goes way back between the blue flouncy blouse and the embroidered scarlet linen top, and with both doors open for side panels, and a cat curled up asleep on the bed behind me, off I went.

Four scratch tracks (Gathering Summer In, Upon Rampisham Down, Tell the Bees, and Ostrich) and some album vocals for The Hearth and the Hive (Vitruvian Man, Ladybird Year, Worlds End), plus a backing vocal besides. That's a good afternoon's work.

One lovely moment when we had a good take in the can already and went for another just for fun - at which point I knew I could take a few risks and try things as they occurred to me; if they didn't work, no great loss. Whooooo... a bunch of it worked.

In the film version, We'd also got a fire lit for tea-in-the-parlour. Sunday High Tea is a bit of a family tradition here. As it was, we ate in the parlour anyway, and the habitual crumble was duly demolished (rhubarb, apple, one last nectarine).

Was that Summer's Last Hurrah, then? Because it truly feels like Autumn today. I'm knitting new red alpaca mitts for P as fast as I can (given that I'm adapting the pattern furiously on the fly) and my shawl is My Friend.

Cat curled up asleep on patchwork cushion on rocking chair in kitchen = domestic bliss.

Wishing you all a peaceful and candlesome Autumn.

*As opposed to my oft-spoken maxim: 'But I can't dance in the wardrobe!' or 'Sed in vestibularum non possum saltare!'