Wrong

Another day of walking to work in expectant heat. Warm, but not yet hot, as the dew burning off soaks up the suns rays. It occurred to me that given my strong predilection for punctuality, that I may as well detour through a different part of the gardens. I think I usually take the most direct route, but there an enormous number of other permutations, which are hardly less direct. And when you're hardly on time anyway, what's another five minutes here or there. I think I actually managed to walk a path I'd never been down before*.

I found my office backing from the morning sun, and am still having trouble settling into work. Or at least trying to think about wine and how it relates to memory is distracting on a hot day. Where is my Pegasus Bay, Neudorf, Mt Difficulty, or Chard Farm Riesling when I want it most?

*I've spent hours and hours wandering round the gardens, "studying", reading, picnicing, having frisbees thrown at my recently reconstructed snozz etc., but it still amazes me that every now and then I stumble upon somewhere I haven't been. (Unless I had been there chasing tissue paper hot air balloons late at night in 1996).