Dull

Frost on the grass in the shadows this morning as I walked into town under a clear blue sky for my cappuccino; looking uphill towards the southern rim of the valley, there was snow on the shady side of the taller roofs. Winter is here. Still no snow, though.

Headache developed in the course of the afternoon, heralding a change in the weather. Perhaps it will snow tonight.

Dropped in on G and U for a post-mortem on the competitions, and gave young Ralph his midafternoon bottle. U was quite surprised that he calmed down instantly in my arms and went to sleep there after eating. Not a surprise to me: that's how it has always been: large dogs and small children always love me. I asked U: when children duck down to wave under the frosted-glass panel of the office's streetfront window, which of us are they waving at? She had to agree.

Washing up the mountain of dirty dishes that had accumulated in my kitchen (after washing up a similar mountain that had accumulated in the office), I discovered that an enamelled iron saucepan that I'd left in the sink had begun to rust on its un-enamelled bottom. Wet, rusting iron has a particular, distinctive smell which took me back to my grandmother's house when I was a child. Such pots and pans were common then, the smell and taste of iron were every-day sensations.

Other than that not much is new. Talk amongst yourselves, smoke 'em if you've got 'em. Heard any good (or really bad) jokes lately?

Twenty-nine down, one to go.