Over

"Valentine's Day is over, it's over" as an old pal used to say. Actually it probably never really started for Mrs Mallard.

Trivial (in the great scheme of disasters) but irritating and unlikely coincidence - not only was I awakened in the wee small hours by the smell of hot metal and plastic (discovered the storage heater in the living room had lost the heid), but the slightly manky smell in the bathroom revealed that there was a leakage from the bathroom in the flat above us. Cue numerous phone calls to factors, electricians, etc etc.

And then much sorrow, both on and off blip. Meancoast lost her lovely WoorMa and LadyFindhorn had distress piled upon sorrow, And I had a message from the Cotswolds to tell me that the remarkable (and much loved) Miss Lucie Pickering had passed away peacefully and is now buried in the garden. Only an old three-legged cat, I know, but poor John is distraught.