And malt does more than Milton can

[flemmings]

I knew there'd be cancellations for my physiotherapist yesterday because snow, and I had myself waitlisted in case there were. Missed the ones that opened up Friday, but they called me noonish Saturday to say there were more. Only the steps were ankle deep in snow and I had no idea what the sidewalk were like between me and the clinic. So I said thanks no thanks, knowing I could probably clear the steps myself, which I did, and let the March sun do the rest, which it did. Because I then ordered in alcohol which I haven't done in a couple of years, and got pleasanty tiddly on Bailey's Irish Cream, which soothed the owies sufficiently to let me cook dinner, which was beef fried couscous because I didn't want to make rice. Probably should have had the physio because the cyst grows troublesome, but have no regrets about spending half what that would have cost me on booze.

I rarely accuse people of having no sense of humour, but let's say I wonder about the person who considered Auden's squib 'Death takes the innocent young' to be a profound meditation on mortality.