It's all right for you lot in Australia and New Zealand and South Africa, basking in the flipping sunshine, but today I got up in the black middle of the night and discovered that it was a quarter to eight.
It's a dismal, dank, dark and dreary day. I can't see any further than the end of the garden, and there the trees are dripping sullenly, whether with tears of boredom or with bad colds I do not know.
It seems, in fact, to be the perfect day to stay in and huddle by...I was going to say the fire, but nowadays it would probably be a hot radiator. Unless you have under-floor heating, when the only solution would seem to be to burrow under the rug.
But no, I know we should make the most of the foul weather and have a brisk tramp through the mud and drizzle and...
...and I'm not even convincing myself, here.
Ah well. I suppose could always go on a virtual journey. Anyone know where I left Murder on the Orient Express?
Thing To Do Today: journey. This word comes from the Old French journee, a day (and hence a day's travelling) from the Latin diurnum, a day's portion.