Chicken and Peregrine Falcon turning a brave face to the East wind on 'St. Michael's Without' this morning, as we all must. I've never seen him up on the cross before.
All this sausage mullarky is beginning to stick in my throat, so I think I'll concentrate on wildlife this morning. Lifestyle posts don't suit me anyway, despite my enviable life style, and all I do is make the rest of you jealous with my extravagant serving-suggestions.
It's colder than ever before here in the south, despite that the thermometer seems to be registering a few degrees above last week. Yesterday, my feet didn't warm up until I got to the pub, despite my cheery little coal-stove. Someone suggested I should put some carpet on the concrete floor of the workshop, so I am having a quote from a local company to fit wall-to-wall, including underlay. It will be a nightmare to vacuum, but if a job's worth doing, it's worth doing properly.
Talking of Snow Leopards (TM), my latest operating system still hasn't arrived from Apple (TM) yet, which is why I can still communicate with all you darlings out there in Blogland. You will know when it is successfully installed when I go quiet. ('Can't wait', I hear you say. Well you know what you can do with your serving suggestions, don't you?)
A French (?) eBayer has contacted me this morning, saying that she wants me to make a load of little stone plinths for her, just like the one Napoleon is mounted on right now, and asks how much this will cost. So it looks as though I may make some money out of Bonaparte after all. Loss leader?
Talking of leaders, what is the Prime Minister of Great Britain doing commenting on the resignation of an England football coach on the media this morning? Hasn't he got anything better to do?
Talking of better things to do, I had better go and freeze my arse off out at the workshop now. I've put it off long enough. I have spent quite a while this morning sending pictures of glass and candlesticks off to a customer in Australia who loves all things 18th century. I feel sort of guilty about sending chunks of English Heritage down under, but times are tight and we spent quite a lot of the 18th century sending people down under, so I guess they have a right to it.