Itchy and scratchy

If I were to be asked for a status report it’d run along the lines that all is well in the little town house in the west, and its inhabitants are healthy and happy.

Graham is engaged on doing up the kitchen, bringing it up to a good working level where it can sit until he does the full make-over he plans to undertake in a year or two.

Dolly is fully engaged on sleeping through this spell of dreadful dull dark weather, waking only for the purposes of eating and complaining.

I have a number of pleasurable tasks lined up that will keep me occupied happily until Spring comes along. A proper Spring, that is, not the false and dangerous Spring we’re experiencing just now.

So why am I wandering around in my nice little world in a state of general ditherity and discontent? I’m blowed if I know.

It’s probably no more than the time of year. I make no secret of it. Of all seasons this is the one I love the least. Can’t settle to anything. And to make it worse, a long list of trivial, irritating things seems to be lining up to keep me from tackling the tasks I’d rather be doing.

Returning to the status report, then, the truth is that if you ask me how I am I’d answer ‘fine, thank you’, and mean it. If you ask me how I feel, I’d answer ‘itchy and scratchy’, and I’d mean that, too.