Night

I said earlier this evening that today had been nearly the perfect day. Well tonight is nearly the perfect night. I say 'nearly' because nothing can be quite perfect. I learned this in 1961 when I worked in the Establishment Office of Liverpool Corporation's Town Clerk's Department. The Boss was Harold Dottie the grandly named Establishment and Organisation Officer and one of the most powerful men in the running of the Corporation. His secretary was Ivy Moreton, Spinster and, as his Secretary, one of the most powerful women in the Corporation. I was unwittingly in the right place to hear an exchange between them one day when Miss Moreton called Mr Dottie "A perfect sod" (pretty strong language for 1961 I would have thought) to which his response was simply "Ivy, nobody's perfect". But I, as usual, digress. Tonight is nearly the perfect night.

As I walked down from the house to the Cottage the moon lit the world almost as if it were day although it does make one realise the difference in colour temperature between the sun and the moon.

Here are two photos. The first is from the deck and the second is from my bed.

It's really as good as it gets.