And then it was Friday, and I had worked the whole week, and when I got to the far end of it, it just didn't seem all that hard.
It was cold all week, so it was probably best to be indoors, anyway.
The sensation of a breeze all week had been chilling, the coldest winter since - you know they often ruin that sense of climax by saying 2021 - records began, or some such thing. The effect of rippling sun light trying to escape the barrier of grey clouds had been kind of lovely, lighting up the cracks in the crazy paved grey sky. The colours of winter pale, almost white on occasions, some days, with the texture of light through the branches of the winter trees broken like children had thrown sticks in the air.
How many weeks to go? I get out my cold fingers and count.
I listen to music of Paul McCartney all day.
I have no problem joking about the Trump shooting, no matter what conservative, it is only free speech if it is our free speech, types say.
I hear that Joe Biden is going to implement nation target practice classes for all school age students.
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