… that I’m going out and looking for a football match today, then they are very much mistaken.
Sunday is a Day of Rest, and that means not trying to extricate myself out of the little lane here and sliding and slithering around 100 miles of French countryside trying to find a football pitch that might be playable.
Because there will certainly be nothing anywhere in this vicinity.
Instead, I had a lie-in and when I finally did heave myself out of my stinking pit into Ice Station Zebra, I lit the fire and spent most of the day within about 6 inches thereof with the laptop, a good book and a couple of films.
Tea tonight was the rest of the oven chips that I didn’t cook yesterday, and that, dear reader, is your lot.
We are told that it will warm up tomorrow – I suppose that instead of -11°C that will mean -9°C.
We shall see.
