Cold

Someone has sat on the remote and fast-forwarded to winter.

Today on my walk to work I was swaddled like the Michelin Man (although I do love any opportunity to whip out the softest leather gloves I bought in Seoul last year).

Yesterday, when the weather gods hadn't totally lost their marbles, I arranged a post-work Monday run with a friend from my running group, Jeanne-Marie (French, been in NZ a couple of months, adorable). I spent most of this afternoon hoping against hope she would cancel and I could chain myself to the radiator and drink hot tea until it scaled my lips. But she didn't and so tonight we ran like mad women into the teeth of a southerly gale and tried in vain to keep our extremities warm. But it was good to catch up on the gossip and now it is done.

I cannot insert myself into the European summer quickly enough.

This little guy has buggar all to do with being cold but thought I should share, given it's the cutest wee thing I've seen in a long time (Bristol the Wonder Dog excepted, of course).

(Pic credit: Tumblr) 

One of those days

Winter has forgotten to go home. This morning on my walk to work - and again on the return journey - heavy rain sloshed from above.

The bits in-between weren't so crash hot, either: a busy day at work was made more difficult by the fact I had to figure out code for a direct mail thing I was writing. Do I look like an IT geek? It made me want to eat my own head. But, thankfully, I cajoled one of the front-end dev guys (am too scared and distinterested to ask what those rows and rows of shiny young lads actually do) to assist. And within five minutes he had it sorted. Play to your strengths, as I always say...

After work there was a walk with one of the Mt Vic Vixens and her woofer, and dinner for one (the Animator is out drinking). I wish I could say I was settling in for a night with the central heating, my beloved Uggs and a book; instead I am writing a Q&A document for a corporate client.

Cutting through today's dreich are these gorgeous blooms I got at the veggie market on Sunday. Not being in possession of the Maggie Barry gene, I have no idea what they are and lack the arsedness to find out. But they are beautiful and make me smile every time I enter the kitchen.

          

Go home winter, you're drunk

I'm feeling delicate.

Tiredness is scratching the inside of my eyelids and the familiar hand of the flu is trying to wrap itself around my throat. I am over the cold and the dark and cannot wait for this month to be over so that Spring can come bounding out of the barn doors.

I've got too much work to fall prey to this virus and the race against the clock has started - to break the world-record for deadline beating before we visit the parentals in Oz in three weeks.

No time for visuals today except this one of His Highness which the Animator snapped this weekend. Hark at him (the dog, not the husband) lolling around on my new duvet cover. Seriously, I want his life...