Take me to your leader

Strider and I were mulling the idea of a fancy dress party this weekend to brighten up the Covid gloom, so I stuffed some straw on my head and pulled a silly face to demonstrate the art of improvisation. The triple halo was pure fluke as I accidentally juxtapositioned myself perfectly under an array of kitchen lights, giving me a bad seventies sci fi appearance. Think Blakes Seven during a period of BBC budget cuts, that sort of thing. Or possibly Boris Johnson, shabby, scruffy and frankly bizarre.

My working day was busy and tiring and I was much in demand for advice and my endless supply of good humour. We did manage a short walk at lunchtime, and TSM bought me lunch from Pret.  Come evening the world had turned cold and unfriendly, so we ate sausages and waffles and played cards. We also discussed the obscenity of homelessness. I just cannot believe it still exists in a civilised society; I wouldn’t last five minutes on the streets. I am endlessly grateful for the blessings of home and family.

Twenty six days until March. Never have I wanted to see the Spring so badly.