Tomorrow is another day

Friday November 24, 2006

I’m having trouble getting going again. I’m improving steadily but I’m not truly ready yet to stir my bones from my chair unless there’s a really good reason.

There’s not a lot of encouragement to be had of the weather. Wet, chill, and increasingly windy. The weather men are forecasting severe storms for tonight and, driving back from the holiday camp I found it quite easy to believe them. The branches of the trees overhead were doing a merry old dance, dipping into the headlight beams and back into the night again, tossing great gobbets of rain down on to the windscreen.

Back home I snuggled up with Dolly on the sofa to watch a new documentary on Van Gogh, thinking that the sight of wonderful cadmium yellows, reds and oranges on the canvas shown in the programme trailer might warm me through. The painting was well done but the documentary presented nothing new or informative. In a visual medium, saying something is so isn’t enough; the idea is to show it.

“We’d have done better to sit by the fire, Dolly,” I said.

She looked at me askance, whatever a skance is.

“Yeah. I know. We haven’t got a fireplace. It would have done us a lot more good than watching that silly programme, though.”

She got up, shook herself, turned round and snuggled up once more.

“You’re right, of course,” I said. “Let’s have a little doze and then I’ll go and see what there might be for our supper.”

Outside the storm attacked the windows with driving rain. The house seemed to snuggle down around us to wait the night out.

“Ah well, Dolly. Tomorrow is another day.”

 

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