Wind and rain is thrashing the South West today and it has never really become proper daylight. The middle ground of the hills outside town have a backdrop of thick, rainy mist which is spliced with the sky, making Bath look much flatter than it actually is.
I was supposed to recieve the framed paintings and take them upstairs, but the bubble-wrap would never dry from the soaking it would get in the short distance between the van and the house, so I have postponed it until tomorrow.
Neither H.I. or I slept much last night - me worrying about what the future holds for me in terms of work and the arthritus which has now reached my right foot (one of only two which I depend on for walking and standing up), and her... well, probably catching insomnia from me. I am difficult to live with right now. The difference is that I can just go back to bed, whereas she has gone out in it to teach all day. I do not, of course, mention my ambition to return to the pit. That would be cruel.
I have been trying not to even think about Trump recently, let alone talk about him, but what with the very public, weekend auditions at his golf club and his Tweets demanding an immediate apology from the actors who pleaded with the Vice President Elect not to bring back slavery, it is difficult.
I am really not looking forward to the French elections, but I suppose I could make a bit of money by betting on Marie Le Pen.
The world has had enough of The Silent Majority now.