On the shelf

... that's the ice shelf in the lake at Stratford park. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the park, the Leisure Centre roof has caved in. It's not wild and stormy at present, just cold. Very cold. For about three minutes it snowed, but by the time I looked out, the snow had turned to wet rain.

Not climbing tonight, but on Thursday. So I am at home with the firelight, and CleanSteve, and Bomble in his little centrally-heated cardboard bed.

I still haven't started my (Early Years) course or heard from an assessor at the College, Getting frustrated, it's time to get going. On the plus side, the compiler of the Stroud Film Festival poetry/art anthology likes my poems, and has asked for another one. It seems that women are under-represented in this slim vol, not for the editor's lack of vigilance in seeking them out!