The day so far is proving to be one of those nothing-to-say
ones. I have nothing to say on the blog. I get days like that. It isn’t that I
don’t want to communicate, I do, but via the internet? No. Blogging won’t do.
E-mailing won’t do. I think I’m pining for the woman’s touch, and if ever you hear
me use that expression again, you may send the men in white coats to put an end
to it all. ‘The woman’s touch’ is OK; it’s the word ‘pining’ that sets the shivers
a-shivering.
* * *
I suppose I could mention this, just by way of making a
valiant effort:
I saw the first fledgling at lunchtime. A young blackbird
was being fed quantities of oats by her dad, which looked odd because fledgling
birds are often bigger than their parents, and such was the case with this fat
little lady. Cute, though, as always.
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