Today I was going to make a start on the four sets of sermons I've got to have ready for Holy Week, finish the last two sections of my write up of the pilgrimage, type up my notes on 'Warlords and Holy Men' and 'The Coming of Christianity to Anglo-Saxon England', do the shopping for our supper, and have a really good clear out of my cupboards and bookshelves (one of the conclusions I've reached about my life is that I do just have far too much stuff - the jumble sale I've got planned could sort out the parish's finances for a couple of years to come).
I did manage to get the shopping done for supper. And I did type up some of my notes.
A lot of time was lost just looking at photos from the past eight weeks, watching webcams of Islay, and listening to Runrig. I'm missing Scotland.
I meant to get some gardening done too.
On Sunday I met a member of the All Saints' congregation who remarked that I looked like I'd put on some weight. 'How unkind,' I thought. It turns out that she might have had a point. On my way to the supermarket this afternoon the waist button popped off my trousers; I had to keep fiddling with my fly all the way to Asda and back to make sure that in the absence of that crucial button I wasn't coming further undone: it was a good time not to be wearing a dog collar.