The Inner Child

With his Wednesday walk with the 'auld yins' cancelled because of the snow, his Lordship connected with the child within him and made a snowman; not a run of the mill snowman, but a slightly tipsy Gordon Highlander of a snow man.
I've blipped his creation as it he slouches drunkenly on the patio bench, cans of cider beside him.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, there was no connection with the inner child for me. There was cooking to be done, sweeping, dusting and washing to be organised and all those other womanly domestic chores that drain any thoughts of reverting to the idea of childhood fun.

But I exaggerate somewhat for a cheap laugh and an ounce of sympathy.

I did manage to nip to the gym clad for the 2 minute journey through snowdrifts, like a female Nanouk of the North, to climb and ski and cycle and power walk.

His Lordship returned from a coffee morning with his Edinburgh walkers hung about with icicles and laden with oranges and muffins but no papers. The latter have not made an appearance in the local shop this morning and I'm feeling a bit bereft. There's something so comforting about sitting with a cup of tea at elevenses time and struggling with the crossword.

As I blip, the father of all blizzards is blowing snow horizontally past the windows of the Dower House and all the Lowry type figures on the paths have disappeared in a white out. AND It's only the 1st of December. April seems a very long way away.