Getting Cold Feet.

The last post was a bit miserable, wasn’t it? I feel a bit sorry for those people who accessed it based on the title, expecting to find something cosy and life-affirming. The season doesn’t help much. The dying of the daylight does tend to lead me towards melancholia, and sometimes worse. And last night, winter sent a message to say she’s on her way.

The temperature where I live fell below freezing, which is why I was woken up at 4.30 am by my feet inadvertently straying into that area of the Arctic Ocean masquerading as the bottom of my bed. No heating on in the bedroom yet, you see. So now I’m faced with a decision between:

Turning the heating on – too expensive.

Finding myself a sleeping partner – too intrusive (and besides, she’d have to be old and ugly to want the job. Somebody’s grandma, I expect.)

Breaking out the bed socks - a bit Dickensian, but the best option in the circumstances.

I don’t suppose anybody really wanted to know that, but my blogging cap has gone missing. I had a long phone call tonight that’s thrown me off my stride. What’s the hope that I might be tripping the light fantastic tomorrow?

Slim.

But you never know.