Friday 13th March 2026

Six years ago this very day, I drove back from North Wales along strangely quiet motorways back home. On the radio after numerous footballers had come down ill, the whole season had been suspended until into April.

It took Johnson ten more days to lockdown, whereas Ireland locked down before St Patrick's Day, so Johnson ensured thousands of extra deaths in those early days.

Reading my words now, it seems like something from a movie, but I already guessed that Johnson would be two steps behind the virus and evidence.

And so it proved.

And yet he is not in prison for manslaughter for the tens of thousands he killed though his dillying and dallying.

But Friday.

Friday was bright, but cold.

Jools went to yoga, and so I stayed in bed for a while, then did the bins and made coffee.

When Jools went to her craft morning, I promised I would vacuum, and so I did.

Eventually.

Mulder was a poor boy, so we booked him in at the vets, only for his senses triggered something was afoot, and he vanished. Though we did take him later and nothing serious was found.

We skipped lunch, and instead Jen was coming for an early dinner, which was spatchcock chicken with maple syrup, roast potatoes, creamed spinach, and sprouts with guanciale.

Not as strenuous as cooking a roast, as the chicken only took and hour, but was incredible, and juicy.

The potatoes were perfect. Of course.

And all together it was rather good.

Jen arrived just as I was dishing up, accepting a glass of wine before we sat down to eat.

Then there was the quiz, which I failed on, so the day was rounded off by football: Hollywood FC v Swansea, and being a tired boy, I went to bed at half time.

Pooped.