I’ve been staring at my blog and getting irritated with it. For some reason I’m in an aggressive and irritable mood tonight. In fact, I’ve been in an aggressive and irritable mood all day. I went for a walk earlier and even Cassie, the lurcher/Bedlington cross from the pub, regarded me with great suspicion. She’s usually very friendly. (Odd how, apart from the delightful Sarah, the only beings I get on with around here are the local dogs, the cows at the end of Mill Lane who come over to have their ears scratched, and my friendly robin. Most of the humans are supremely ignorable; which, by an interesting coincidence, is also how they seem to regard me.)
So, anyway. My opinions are irritating me, my profile is irritating me, Charles Trenet just irritated me. I have an e-mail that I can’t be bothered to open and a blog comment I can’t be bothered to read. I’m sure they would both irritate me. Even dear Helen’s text messages irritated me.
Best not call round for a nightcap tonight. Leave it until tomorrow. I might be a pussycat again by then.
Why am I bothering to post this? Don’t know.
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