Hibernation on Sunday morning as the Estuary Wilds rocked with some beastly weather.

BEASTLY, I tell you.

Even the kittens couldn’t be arsed to make it outside. If it ‘aint good enough for Daisy and Dotty, then it ‘aint good enough for me.

And so some school editing instead.

I have long since learnt that the clickbait content for school site is pictures - and LOADS of ’em.

I’m not always around across the three South London schools as much as I would like. It helps in the SE21 school that one of the ACE TA’s is also a crack photographer.

My Dropbox was stuffed full of World Book Day snaps to edit and publish.

Shame I wasn’t around for World Book Day and the ‘fun’ of fancy dress.

Hey hoe.

The bruised skies healed mid-morning. I saw the escape route and cycled off to the gym.

It was a brief session. A male machine hog sat on his fat arse for almost fifteen minutes, doing f-all.

Cheers, fella.

Forty lengths in the pool followed. It was a three in the lane rotation system. Not ideal, but there’s no such thing as a bad swim.

I cycled back through the University, keen to avoid the storm carnage along the Trail. My phone alarm pinged, just as I reached the peak of Boundary Road.

Oh ‘ek - that will be the five minute warning ahead of the Sunday afternoon work shift that I had forgotten about.

I had five minutes to cycle back, with the alarm counting down as I turned the pedals.

Phew - that was close.

#lolspurs Vs Everton took up mid-afternoon, alongside the work.

Anna was also working at home all day. She’s off bloody snowboarding at the end of next week - which means that she is a nightmare, trying to clear her work desk ahead of the break.

I then ventured outside once again to give a severe trimming to the front garden wisteria. It has colonised the drainpipe. I value a functioning drainpipe more than a wisteria in bloom.

Snippety snip.

I bashed out a Buzz story for the first time since the summer months late afternoon.

Gosh.

Many issues have kept me away - mainly time related.

But these stories aren’t covered elsewhere. I’ve spoken with Mr Urban. I’ve told him what I can, and can’t commit to.

We’ll see how it moves forward…

Dotty dragged Daisy into some back garden excitement ahead of sunset. I knew exactly what it would be: Poor Mr Toad.

Mr Toad was far from playing dead this time; he actually was dead.

Or just about.

His head was hanging off, with a slight movement of the body.

NAUGHTY DOTTY.

I packaged up Mr Toad into a used vegetable bag, and dumped him in the dustbin.

What a way to go.

Cats can be cruel.

But at least it means that the daily farce of transporting Mr Toad down to the nearby pond every day is now over.

We watched the J-Roy England innings. A half century knock from the Surrey Boy. Happy with that.

The cricket viewing was interrupted by a piercing squeaking noise that I could hear from the garden.

My first thoughts were poor little Daisy. She is such a squeaker.

I rushed outside to find Dotty and Daisy terrorising another Mr Toad. The squeaking was coming from the little amphibian fella.

Bloody little bitches.

It was a tragic noise to hear. This Mr Toad was at least in tact. I took him off down to the pond.

I’m getting pretty pissed off with this behaviour.

We persisted with the collapse of an England innings.

Oh dear.

And then the final episode of Roots. It has been as brutal and brave as the original that I remembered from back in the day.

The kittens are now flat out.

So is the first Mr Toad 🙁