Thought for the day

On Fridays Soulemama always posts a very beautiful picture from her week, under the heading 'This Moment', and encourages bloggers everywhere to join in. It is a lovely idea to encourage everyone to stop and pause and appreciate the good things in their life, and every week I mean to join in, but Friday comes, up goes the post, I admire the picture, and think is it really Friday already, and oh no, I forgot to take a picture - and promise myself to do better next time (you will note that Soulemama manages to do a post without words, which is utterly beyond me, so I hope that you are prepared for some verbiage).

This has gone on for some months now, but this morning I woke up and remembered it was Friday, which was a good start. I then started to think about what magic moment I could pick from the week to post for all the world to see (or at least a few kind readers - I am not really in the big league like Soulemama {and if you want to learn more about the subtleties of hierarchy in the world of blogging, then this is an illuminating read}), and before sitting back in a warm glow of satisfaction.

Unfortunately the only feeling I could sum up was one of faint irritation. Yes, I most definitely got out of the wrong side of bed this morning, and what is worse, I am home alone and the Head Chef is not around to take the blame (for it was surely his fault, as he was out boozing with the boys and came home late so I was forced to wait up for him, reading a very interesting book). Well, maybe not boozing, he tells me that he only drank one small glass of wine, but certainly I feel quite out of sorts because of it.

And the faint irritability is compounded out of having to fetch my own logs in (definitely down to HC), and skies turned grey (well, nobody can help that one, but if anyone was at home, they might well find themselves in the firing line), and finding the chicken water frozen, which meant plodding back to the house to look for the plastic jug which was hiding (definitely HC's fault), and taking hot water back to fill up the drinkers, and a nagging feeling that I should be doing some housework even thought the sewing cupboard's siren call is tempting me.

And then I looked at the little adverts down the side of my inbox and the little links to 'Apple Pie Receipe [sic]', Homemade Dog Biscuit, Deep Cleaning, and Public Sewer Services made me laugh in their hopelessly irrelevant  randomness (although I shivered slightly at the ones for Loose Fitting Dentures? and Dental Practice for Sale (Good Income)). So another little Handy Hint for you - just take a look at Google ads if you want to induce a fit of hysterical laughter (but take heed at a warning from One Who Knows, don't write emails with the word 'pyjamas' in them, as the effect could be most disturbing).

Logs - dwindling fast

But back to the task in hand: my impressions of the week seemed to be overwhelmed by the cold, and I certainly can't show you pictures of my charming offspring as they put their hands over their faces in unison if they see me fumbling for my camera (on Christmas Day, would you believe? How Unkind.).

So at the end of the week, what I will share with you is logs and ash buckets, which is pretty much what it has been about here. Logs coming in, fires to be coaxed alight, and wood ash bucketed out onto the garden (good for soft fruit, garlic, lightening heavy soil, and topping up raised beds).

Chopping block and ash bucket

{The other burning issue here this week has been how to get a Princess to wear a coat out of doors in freezing temperatures, which has taxed my maternal negotiating skills to the utmost. I succeeded in trading coat wearing for an off-games note this morning (genuine indisposition, of course, m'lud) as I felt that the potential withholding of such was a trump card, but if anyone has any hints and tips (apart from buying something brand new from the Barbour shop [who would have thought that Barbour would come back into fashion?]), then I would be most exceedingly obliged to you for sharing them.}

PS The Oxford commas are especially for Angela, and the superfluity of parentheses for Mrs Micawber - the joy of life is in such trifles.