We tend, in our modest way, to indulge ourselves on Saturday nights. Starting off with together preparing a pizza. I include wheat germ and wheat or oat bran in the dough that I prepare and roll out. Just enough mozzarella, and loads of mushrooms, tomato, green, red, yellow and orange bell peppers. The pizza literally groans with the weight of the vegetables. It's a virtuous, nutritious, appealing-to-the-taste-buds meal. With red grapes to finish it off.

But just a few minutes before I was preparing to remove it from the oven, an important telephone call. One that kept me on line far too long. So the pizza was very well done, its crust more than crisp, but no big loss after all; it tasted just crunchingly-fine.

From there we went on to view a film. We get these films, either video or DVD, from the Sally Ann (Salvation Army thrift shop), selecting those we haven't yet seen that look promising, that we may or may not have read a review of, and that we anticipate will have entertainment value. Last night's was a dud, a soporific, absurdly badly-realized social satire whose send-up quality was enhanced not one whit by the promising presence of Dame Helen Mirren.

And then, this morning, we slept in late. Something I don't appreciate. On the other hand, if we slept in late it was likely because of a sleep deficit, so I must grumblingly accept that. And to make things seem far better, it's a brilliant spring day, with the wind more than offset by the sun's presence, melting the remaining landscape snow.

Better yet, our public broadcaster had a solid hour of Bach's melodiously sumptuous music. What more could one ask for?!