Posted by Tania Kindersley.
Work, work, work. I look up at six-thirty, and realise that I have absolutely no idea what is happening in the world. The Mongol hordes could have invaded Whitehall, for all I know. There is now no coherent thought left in my head.
Outside, the sky is blue and grey, the colour of pigeons. My own Pigeon is dozing quietly. It is absolutely still.
I always apologise for giving you too many words, to wade through in your busy lives. Now I apologise for too few.
Some pictures, to make up for it:
Hill, from slightly different angle than usual: