The 7am work shift and TEA.

Welcome to my world.

It was painfully cold out there; it was painfully cold indoors as well.

The only solution was for hot tea every fifteen minutes.

I was BURSTING when the four hours of work came to a close.

In Wet Food News: the kittens are back on the wet food. It has been most odd.

Anna has a theory that they are eating bread in other gardens that has been put out for the birds.

Given that Dotty brought in a bird last night, I reckon that the bread theory is a little lame.

I updated the Wiv Indies site mid-morning.

Disclaimer, disclaimer, blah blah blah: I’m not out door knocking with the Indies.

But I wish them well.

I had some South Lambeth Road finance chasing just before luncheon. Having a Company Secretary that has buggered off and knows where the bodies are buried is a bit of a bummer.

I’m slowly untangling the the various finances left scattered around SW8.

And then out went the call of:

“To Clactonia!”

Oh Lordy.

It was actually rather LOVELY.

I was booked in to help capture online the Warm and Toasty Club with Johnno.

Spending a Friday afternoon with half a dozen senior ladies talking about social history is ACE.

It started to snow as I left the location before sunset. I took sanctuary in the Clacton Lidl.

It was identical to my Sunny Stockwell home turf. It took me all of two minutes to locate the croissants and cheapo BOOZE.

A brief train journey back to base, and then we went out for an intimate local gig with the Pop Genius.

He was on fine form with a selection of songs and yarns.

The talking dog shaggy dog story matures with age.

I’m back on Parkrun stewarding duties in the morning.


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