OK, the energies have lifted a bit now. The backache is still
there but tolerable, and I’ve woken up since I took a bracing walk in the cold
wind and sunshine. And the fire started easily this afternoon, which is always
a bonus given the crap nature of the coal they peddle these days. Whatever
happened to good old Yorkshire anthracite, I say. Oh
yes, I remember now. Mrs Thatcher murdered industrial Yorkshire
back in the nineteen eighties, didn’t she? I hope they put her in the right bit
of Madame Tussaud’s when she finally pops off.
So, all in all, I think I might treat myself to the double
episode repeat of Doctor Who tonight, which means I should reach M’Lady’s house
on my late ramble at about 8.45. I wonder whether she’ll manage a wave.
I have fond imaginings of that scenario, you know – Sarah at
an upstairs window, while I play the fool doing the serenade thing. And then my
form is illuminated by the light from a downstairs window with the curtains
drawn back, and there’s Sarah’s sister doing her ‘where does it come from,
where does it go?’ look.
I suspect Sarah’s sister is quite nice, really. She even
called me by my name once. Imagine that! I also suspect that she sometimes has
trouble keeping up with her kid sister’s boundless energy. But what would I
know? Belated happy birthday, Rebecca.
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