Now I'm starting to feel not well, so today's post is short. Dig has pushed off to some other country, meanwhile organising visas to remote parts of the world for his not-holidays. The children are back to rude health and are on form with the rolling around the floor slapping each other and pulling hair. The house is a complete mess. The fridge is depressing me. I've dropped a packet of washing powder all over the kitchen floor. There is a snowman's head in the freezer. The grass, apparently, is its hair. We are not achieving anything. It is all despair.
Not surprisingly, I'm feeling sorry for myself. This is not a good day to continue clearing out the wardrobe from downstairs as part of our move upstairs. It involves bagging up the size 8 clothes that I'll never get in again unless I'm ill. Since I am ill, I might just try. That would be even more depressing since I seem to be about size 14. You see, I can't escape today's gloom. I may as well just accept it. No matter how happy the beginning, the miserable ending stays forever.
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