Friday, 30 December 2016


I am beginning to feel the first twinges of boredom.  I'm sure that has to be a good sign.  Boredom, or the inchoate desire to be doing something different to what you are doing, is supposed to be a stimulus to creativity in children.  More to the point, it implies desire.  One of the signs of being properly poorly is having no desire to do anything, or nothing beyond lying down in a dark quiet room, or staring out of the window.

There wasn't much to stare at today, because the fog never lifted.  I could see as far as the irregular outlines of the trees at the bottom of the garden, which looked quite atmospheric and mysterious in an Atkinson Grimshaw sort of way, but that was it.  I certainly couldn't see as far as the wind turbine, not that I especially wanted to see it.  The effect of Gothic suspense was slightly undermined by the fact that noise carries very well in damp air and so the sounds of the farm and whichever main road happened to be downwind of us today were clearly audible, but the Systems Administrator reported after going out to collect some firewood that the mist was swirling through the trees in the wood in a very atmospheric fashion.

The poor old postman called mid morning, and I sympathised about the fog, and he said that it was getting worse and scrunched off into the murk.  It was getting worse, definitely a day to spend convalescing with some Christmas books.  I have now very diligently read about the gardens of London, and the history of the park, and using self seeding plants, and they were all very good, but I can't keep up the pace all weekend.

Our Ginger was not going out, not in this weather, and spent the morning lying in the kitchen wearing his bitchy resting face.  Mr Fidget insisted on walking out to the middle of the frozen pond after breakfast, until I smashed the ice, which was a rerun of what he insisted on doing yesterday. I'd like to think that he had an instinctive understanding about the dangers of thin ice, but I have my doubts.  Mr Fluffy spent most of the day sleeping in a box, while Mr Cool sat on the bird table for the second day running.  He waited very patiently for a long time, but no birds came, and he had to eat some of the bird food as a consolation prize.

The Systems Administrator watched the first hour of the two hour DVD on modern freight trains that I gave him for Christmas.  Various of my friends had asked me what I was getting the SA for Christmas, and most seemed unconvinced by the merits of Big Freight, but just because their husbands wouldn't want it doesn't mean the SA didn't.  The SA said it was very good, only two solid hours of freight would be a bit much in one sitting.  The trouble with having bought it is that I am now on Videoscene's mailing list, and set to be hearing about the latest thing in rail DVDs weekly for the rest of the year.

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