Bit of theme this morning on the old route-march through the lanes.
Windy enough to blow the cobwebs away but with doom and gloom written all over the sky. One of those days that is never going to truly reach full and proper daylight. More dull than a dull thing, greyer than grey – Nature obviously has a headache.
Warmer than the inside of a Latvian goat-breeder’s left sock, at about sixty of the Fahrenguzundheits (and this in the middle of an English December).
Minimal traffic in the lanes, just the one murderous charmer, although to be fair she did try to kill me twice. 50-60mph on a single-width lane, no indication that she’d even seen me, let alone that she cared to give me some way or, unthinkably, mayhap slow down a little as she passed. Harboured dark thoughts about tying her up with duct tape, putting her at the side of the road and driving her own car past her with maybe eighteen inches clearance… then parking it on top of her.
Decided against motoristicide and instead tacked an extra couple of miles onto my strollette.
Dogs well and truly barking by the time I got back to base.
Talking of fiction, it’s time I got back to writing the end of Cry God for Harry, England, and Nora Boane. A short for inclusion in the soon-to-be-published collection The Dog with the Bakelite Nose.