Wednesday 27th February 2019

Mid-week.

And work continuous apace.

And outside it is another fine and glorious day, it was even warmer, in St Maggies, than on Tuesday. Birds sang, bees buzzed between flowers, looking for nectar and pollen.

But, as ever, I am locked to my chair in the dining room, looking at two of three computer screens, trying to make sense of the madness.

And on the third screen I have Twitter going trying to keep track of the Brexit madness. I wish I had never heard of Brexit, did i say that before? Way too much of my brain is full Brexit shit, space that could be used for orchids, or music, or churches. Or even work.

But I remember this shit.

Back to work. Always difficult when my brain is churning something over and a question is fielded to me in a meeting. Please could you repeat as the line is so bad?

The stock answer.

And I have run out of cheese!

Gromit.

So I have to make do with scrambled eggs on toast, and then loads of fresh brews and some dried figs.

And my back is playing up again, not that bad, but bad enough to book an appointment at the chiropractor. I would just like to be pain free. To be able to alk as much as I want, not have to sit on a soft chair.

That kind of thing.

The day comes to an end, so I set my out of office message, and the working week is done.

I wait for Jools to come home, and then I can cook dinner, shoarma spiced lamb steaks and veggies, and some fried potatoes. And I have wine.

Sweet wine.

I take to my bed to listen to the football, battling against the wine that is trying to send me to sleep.

Wine won at some point near half nine. I wake up with the games having finished.