I see that somehow the better part of a week has slipped by since I last found the time to put any of my stupifying thoughts into cyberspace. There has not been anything especially noteworthy - at least, not that I can recall.
Except for yesterday. I did suffer a mild panic attack yesterday evening, a panic attack of which I am now mildly ashamed.
The weather forecasters, scared of doing a Michael Fish, were predicting dire conditions with heavy snowfalls in southeast England.
(Back in 1987, Michael Fish announced as he broadcast the weather that he had received a telephone call from a lady who said she had heard that there would be a hurricane. Mr Fish pooh-poohed this idea. That night we experienced hurricane-force winds during the Great Storm.)
I was due to attend a meeting, a meeting I would happily not attend. All the same, I got my papers together and the Old Bat had dinner ready early. The rain started, as forecast, heavy rain. The drain in our drive was unequal to the strain and we very soon had a growing puddle an inch deep, spreading wider and growing deeper. Then the snow started, about a quarter of an hour before I was due to leave.
The local authority asked people not to go out unless it was really necessary, and I know how quickly our road, a steep hill, becomes impassable. I rang and gave my apologies.
Half an hour later the snow had stopped and the roads were clear!