The weather is behaving itself. Hot and dry during the day. A mountain storm to douse the garden late at night. On the lawn this morning a tiny birds nest blown down in the nightly gale. On closer examination it's proven to be made out of finely woven PON hair .
A mystery. On a street light outside The Rickety Old Farmhouse a strangely official sign has appeared. It points along the lane to 'Site 1'. The mayor knows nothing about it nor the Old Farmer. It appears to be the only one.
The builders van passes us on our morning walk. They stop to say they'll be starting work on the tiling tomorrow. This is indeed an age of miracles.