It was a glorious sunny day in the south, but I get atrocious reports of blizzards and ice at home, and now feel rather gloomy about bashing through the weather to my poor old home. Still, still, a dose of the perspective police and a couple of tins of ice-cold Guinness will do the trick, and I shall rise tomorrow filled with purpose.
Back on the road on Wednesday, and shall go very slowly in my shiny and restored little Audi, with its trusty four-wheel drive, which is promised, by the kind people at the garage, to work by then. Thank goodness for Hurricane Fly and Quevega, who between their dear, battling hearts, shall pay for my ridiculously expensive new brake pads.
According to my mother and The Horse Talker, this is the only person on the compound who is cheerful, despite his rather serious face in this shot:
Whilst this normally sweet and biddable ladyship is utterly fed up with the weather and has given in to bouts of grumpiness:
And everyone is covered in mud, and furry white coats are a thing of distant memory: