A Deep Melancholy

Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged.

Poor Tom - hope the council workers today didn't feel like that - it is a helluva long job :-(

I, on the other hand had a smashing, unexpected , meet up with Phoeb,
iced my banoffee tray bake, and cleaned the downstairs loo.
Preparing for rellies descending this weekend for a little knees up for E. He has a birthday approaching - not one ending in a zero - they always seem more significant don't they?