The temperature outside is warm but just cool enough to merit a bike ride to the weekly market.
A piece of elastic unearthed from the workshop is exactly the right length to fit an extra basket on the back of my bike.
The grader has been down our track and got rid of all the rocks that usually unseat me.
The breeze gets up just enough enough to stop me breaking out in a sweat but doesn't blow off my hat.
The only pollution is the olive blossom blowing in my face.
The only sound is the click of my peddles, birdsong and a distant children's game in the next village.
Big bottoms in baggy trousers are bent over their fields planting pepper seedlings.
A few late poppies and daisies straddle the road and last year's forgotten onions are blooming purple globes.
A distant neighbour yells out my name laughing as I ride by to remind me how ridiculous I look in my lilac floppy hat.
I manage to find first gear for once and actually cycle up the hill into town rather than push my bike in.
All my vegetables fit into my panniers and new basket.
It's down hill almost the whole way back.
Appreciating an exceptional day as it happens is one of life's rare occurrences and can set one up for weeks of mediocracy
Lou Reed's "Perfect Day".