Jesus, I am too sick for the Internet tonight, I have been poisoned by my own disgusting crumble (my stepmother accidentally bought gluten free flour which I can only assume was made from finely milled silica sachets since it made a crumble as dry and dusty as the Sahara, regardless of the cavalier, Nigel Slater pints of butter I poured hopelessly into the mixture). I have also succumbed to the twin dangers of Strepsil and Lemsip abuse and my head is swimming and I have an Annoying Cough, the kind where you don't sound quite sick enough to elicit sympathy, just really wind people up.
Today: nothing. Lots and lots of nothing. It was grey and damp with buffeting clouds, fat disconsolate pigeons sitting on fence posts and dog walkers bundled up in many layers trudging along the verges. We have been bamboozled by the clock change all day, dozy and hungry at the wrong times, drifting through the kitchen grazing on inappropriate foods, boiling the kettle, boozing and asking each other if it can really only be 9am.
The cousins left early and we went for a short, uneventful walk and a short uneventful bike ride, failed to make cider (vetoed by my father even though the kit was his birthday present), made atrocious crumble, picked a few carrots and generally festered, each in our own corner. I read the paper and my tawdry book, watched Strictly and played backgammon with my stepmother and had a scalding, blissful Radox bath watching night draw in (horribly early). The children mainly did Minecraft, obviously, ate gingerbread shapes and repeatedly unplugged the router for reasons that are entirely opaque to me.
It would have been absolutely delightful if I weren't sick and even being sick, it had that lovely childlike quality where you aren't expected to organise anything and people provide you with foods and you just submit docilely to whatever the grown ups decide, which is a treat at very-nearly-forty. Now it is cold in the bedroom and slightly damp, so cold you have to huddle fast under the quilt (I haven't managed to get undressed yet, a rookie error) and everything smells of woodsmoke and outside an owl is hooting quite angrily and it is time for me to sleep.
I do not have any new pictures for you today except a picture of some poo we found on the hill, which I photographed in the hope my father could identify it ("deer", but he could be bluffing, he's a very convincing liar). I'll spare you that. Here instead is his horse sculpture that he mistakenly bought instead of buying me a miniature Shetland pony (easy mistake). I appear to have used some weird filter accidentally: I have a new phone, having left the old one in a taxi last week, and I rather loathe it, it is patronising and obstructive.
Tomorrow, we have another whole day here but it is ok, we are going to the Cotswold Farm Park so I can 100% guarantee you pictures of goats.