My plan to get out and about today was frustrated by the car deciding to play up, which put me into the kind of mood in which you wouldn’t want to have to be trying to hold a reasonable conversation with me. Having sent R (who was gadding around with some chums at Draycote Water, if you please) a text telling him all about it, in broad Anglo Saxon with lots of CAPITAL LETTERS and exclamation marks!!!, I slammed around the house for a while, mainlining chocolate and kicking the furniture, and then decided to take out my angst on the Christmas decorations.
The house is now clear of all traces of Christmas – apart from the chocolate panettone, which we haven’t yet got round to opening, and which was fortunate to escape my attention when I was fury-eating this afternoon. I was probably also fortunate, because if I’d started it I might not have been able to stop, and by now I probably wouldn’t have been feeling very well. As it is, I’m still as cross as a wasp, but do at least feel that I’ve achieved something during my bout of unwilling domesticity.
I also cleaned and refilled some of the bird feeders during the afternoon, and as I was marching back and forth with boxes and baubles, I kept one eye on the garden to see what was about. I was (briefly) amused to watch this robin taking advantage of the wheelbarrow wheel, which gave him both a safe refuge from a woodpigeon/blackbird/starling/pheasant scrummage in the nearby flower bed, and a vantage point from which he could judge his opportunity to dart in and grab some food for himself.
