It's 8 o'clock in the morning on the long Queen's Birthday weekend and right on cue the weather forecast is for "19 degrees, mostly sunny, chance of rain 0%". I'm well into my second month of batching it and, to mark the occasion, I vacuumed the lounge and gave the kitchen a good scrubbing.
I've learned how to cook a passable porridge (cup of milk, five spoons of oatmeal, cook until it bubbles like Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD); I've got used to the deceptive packaging of TV dinners and now simply cook the cardboard photographs instead; and I'm on speaking terms with all the trees - ("... I talk to de trees --- dat's why they put me away ...")
Rover has accepted his new 'no-frills' dining on MyDog canned food after realising that it's either MyDog or hungry dog. He's wonderful company and even better to talk to than the trees, but that doesn't entitle him to cordon bleu meals.
As for the rest of the menagerie, the parrots and the ducks and the possum - there are days when I feel like living in a David Attenborough documentary - they still get their regular feed and have no complaints.
As I was saying: it's 8 o'clock and all is well!
