Sunday 11th December 2022

The morning after the night before.

There's always next time.

He says.

We woke up to a winter wonderland, very nearly half an inch of snow, which looked mighty purdy.

From inside.

We went out for a walk after the first coffee, planning on going all the way to Windy Ridge, but my cough and Jools' cough said otherwise.

Anyway, we slithered to the end of the street, then over the fields to Fleet House, pausing to hay "hello" to the two Shetlands in the small paddock, though no one had let them out of their stables at half eight.

Then back down Collingwood, with Jools' by now unable to control her coughing, made worse by the dry cold.

We cut back through the footpath back to our street and home.

She sat on the sofa for half an hour, waiting for the coughing to stop. THing is, it seems the things you think would make it better: cold drinks and the such is the opposite of what is needed.

After a fresh coffee and two warm croissants, the coughing stopped, and all was well again.

All that done, we settled down for a quiet day inside, as there was a blizzard thing forecasted from five.

Of course there was football for me to watch, one game at one, though not very good as Burnley easily beat QPR 3-0.

We snacked off cold party food for lunch, and then for supper had the last of the stinky cheese and crackers with lashing of red wine and/or cider.

And that was it for a cold, grey Sunday at the end of the year.