Saturday morning by the side of the road
Sitting downstairs with a mug of coffee. The lights are off and the back door is open just wide enough so that I can hear the rain falling, but not so wide that the duvet I am wrapped in is insufficient to keep me warm. The wind is cold today. It is trying to find a way in to my cosy cocoon. But I am no butterfly. I feel more like a Scooby Doo villain today muttering and cackling to myself in the dark and waiting to be caught in a net by some teenagers with a talking dog.
What does that even mean? The coffee isn't working its magic today. Not yet. Not yet
I have only a few minutes now before the day starts and perhaps not quite long enough to write the update this week deserves. So instead I shall turn off the computer - to better hear the falling of the rain - and consider how much damage I could do to those meddling kids with nothing more sinister than the gift of a talking puppy.
What does that even mean? The coffee isn't working its magic today. Not yet. Not yet
I have only a few minutes now before the day starts and perhaps not quite long enough to write the update this week deserves. So instead I shall turn off the computer - to better hear the falling of the rain - and consider how much damage I could do to those meddling kids with nothing more sinister than the gift of a talking puppy.