5.30 am, it's 75 degrees with 100% humidity and my body clock is completely out of whack. We've both been up since 3.20, too hot to sleep and too plagued by lists of things that have to be done. Mr F's particular sleep robber is the Order of Service for my mother's funeral tomorrow. Every time he thinks he's all set the last two words of a hymn drop off the page. So while he tweaked I ironed. A good thing, this, because the crumpled laundry was piled high on the bed my son will have to sleep in tonight. Now we have nice crisp shirts and table napkins and everything. Also, the guest bed has re-emerged. I haven't seen it in weeks.

The birds started up at about 4.15, the birds that live au naturel, that is. Our little canary kept his head tucked firmly under his wing until I made coffee and toast at 5.00. Who sang that song, My Canary's Got Circles Under His Eyes? I think it was Fats Waller. Anyhoo, our canary do. Well, he can nap later.
And so can we. Maybe I should give Mr F a break and drop a verse from Lift High the Cross.

Today's question: can I nurse along the bathtub full of glorious pale pink peonies until tomorrow morning? It's a cliff-hanger. No wonder I can't sleep.