COLD

OK, It is bloody cold.  The Rayburn is not Rayburning,  Jack Daw and his mates have completely filled our chimney with sticks and so any fire we light comes streaming smokily out to fill the house with choking gray.  It has been the most amazing pig of a year and to cap it all I have lost my dear funny gentle brother (and no, he is not down the back of the sofa, and yes, I have now so many synomyns for death courtesy of the Doctor that I will never be able to use them all up before I have a "life ending situation" of my own)

In other news, however, life goes on.  It's quite possibly the first day of December, and therefore that probably explains why the "dog walk" was accompanied by endless blasts and bangs and people standing around with big black labradors aiming huge shotguns at the sky in order to rid the countryside of the menace of the PHEASANT.  Why, people believe this to be necessary is always going to elude me.  As I stood there, startled into statue mode by the sudden noise of shooting all around me....  I looked up and small delicate wisps were floating around the air like snowflakes.... on closer inspection these turned out to be soft downy feathers.   Sigh.  (insert mood music here).

Nevermind.  We now have President Elect Trump in Americee and some cow who I will swear I will never refer to as Prime Minister here in the U S of K.  But wait, the mobile telecommunications device has just alerted me to the fact that I now have to go and collect the ashes of my brother and do something with them.  What, I have no clue.  Having just raked out the non-functioning Rayburn I believe I have had enough bastard ashes to last me for a while.
Never mind.  Never mind.  Keep calm and plod on.  Somewhere over the rainbow there may be a chimney sweep who can help me in my battle for fossil fueled warmth.  Until then, let's just return to the potters wheel for a while.