How Cold Is it?

OMG! It is freezing this morning. Brrrrr! I don't know what the temperature was, but the air had an icy edge to it. It is Arctic.

I am tempted to light a fire in the lounge room, but, of course, it is a work day, so I shut myself away in my study instead. 

Bruno slept on the couch next to me, once he'd stopped scratching around, as bulldogs do in their beds. The leather couch has a Thai triangle floor cushion covering it for protection from bulldog claws because they are such bed wreckers.

David always laughs when I tell him how cold it it. 

"That makes me so happy," he says. 

It somehow justifies his move to northern NSW. David is always about David, of course.

So, I messaged him and he responded true to form.

He's been sick ever since he came back from Bali and Europe on his most recent trip. Nobody seems to know what's wrong with him, so the barrage of medical tests continue.

Not that I am complaining about the cold, as it will be summer before we know it, and if the commentators are right, and not just speaking for maximum ratings, it is going to be hot, the summer from hell and I, for one, will be thinking about winter fondly.

Anyway, I got to work and forgot about the cold and the cold morning turned into a sunny day.

I listened to Keith Richards solo albums all day as I worked. Cross Eyed Heart followed by Main Offender.