Perhaps this uncommon abeyance is post-holiday blues; perhaps it is the miserably restricted diet I'm suffering as I try to track the cause of the angioedema; or perhaps it's because Dig is returning to Hong Kong; the medication; or maybe today I feel I've not really sorted a focus for our home ed having got us back to England and over the funeral.
The local museum I'm sure would've helped. Hopefully they're launching themselves towards a new status as one of the nation's quirks and eccentrics, hosting the annual lawnmower party or organ festival. But Shark, Squirrel and Tiger were unmoved by the latest attraction, and my entreaties. 'You can see early models of lawnmowers! And there will be lawnmower enthusiasts from all over the country!'
No. They wanted to stay at home, where they drifted off and eventually joined back up together again to dig unicorn burial chambers in my lawn. That must have provided adequate focus because next they converted the barbeque into a sacrificial altar. I told them, I do not approve.
By way of atonement, and perhaps with a fresh morning eye on the savagery gone on about the lawn, Shark decided to help me out with the household chores. She went off to empty the tub that catches the rain that drip-drip-dribididrips from the roof in the
Unfortunately she upturned the water straight over the path outside, which immediately turned into a bog. Oh well. No doubt it will become the new experimental peat-bog burial ground and Lem the wicked unicorn will meet his end there shortly.
So I have not much news to report for today. Except I am alive. I shall be glad about that, because it's more than I have expected.
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