I have found myself a new job this morning and it is one I am going to enjoy. Reading through the blurb of a local removal firm I read that a sensible idea is to allocate a coloured sticker to each room and then stick that colour on each box which is to go in there. Then add an arrow to each box indicating This Way Up. Anything which helps to facilitate ease of moving suits me, so I shall go round and do this later on this morning.
There are now so many packed boxes that I begin to doubt the contents will go into the bungalow, so a lot of them will have a 'garage' sticker and the car will stay on the drive until I decide what to do with the surplus.
It is another very wet day here - and cold with it - so W and I are going out to lunch (again? I hear you say) so that at least part of the day is passed in a cheerful atmosphere.
It is a Friday when we go across to Kirby Lonsdale to meet our friends. Rain, snow, hail or blow we go (no, not the first line of my latest poem) because we so enjoy the food, the friends' company, and - not least- the journey there (forty one miles). It just serves to remind us both that we live in one of the most beautiful parts of the country and we should be grateful for it. We might not have the warm zephyrs of the South of England or the days of warm sunny weather blowing over from the continent, but, by golly, we do have the beauty and grandeur of the Pennines. And that more than makes up for it.