Domestic-ks...

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I started this afternoon, with the best of intentions, to assemble and install a further shelving unit in the studio, so that as mentioned the other day, I might clear the tool-well of my workbench of the sundry tut that infests it presently. Considering Jane & I had already spent a good couple of hours clearing away garden detritus for the first garden waste collection of 2025, and made excellent inroads into the mountain of dead and decaying winter foliage, I was frankly stilled in my storage-building efforts by the numbing effects of the bloody cold, and gave up an hour into the process. Clearing the garden at least generated some internal body heat: fiddling with steel shelving in an ice-cold outbuilding is, I'm afraid, a whole different kettle of fish. And then came the rugby. Both my teams lost. My national team, Wales, as yet an unformed unit, ignominiously. My second team, France, in a very close, imperfect, but exciting scrap, against England at Twickenham. There you go, and I'm not commenting on the Orange One and Team Bullshit tonight, except to say watch this...



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