... tiddly pom, the colder my toes, tiddly pom (as Winnie the Pooh once said). And the blacker the bruises. At the moment I have one black elbow, a matching shoulder, and a green and purple knee. I have spent the weekend resting up, because my right arm has been out of commission after falling on the ice at the Park and Ride at Monk's Cross. The concept is, you get out of your nice warm car into an ungritted skating rink, and if you're still alive by the time you reach the bus, it then takes half an hour to get to where you really want to be. Funnily enough, numbers of passengers are decreasing.
Herbie and Holly are both being little asterisks (as in ****s) and refusing to leave the house with the new dog walker. I've told her they're both adult dogs, they can make their own minds up, they just can't use a door key, so as long as she opens the door to the garden, it's up to them if they want to go out and wee. Maybe a walk is a bit ambitious at this stage. I'm worried though. She said Herbie bared his lips at her this morning and growled. Is he becoming possessive over the house? It's so unlike him, he'd normally run and hide at the first sign of trouble. I need to be at home.
There's a programme on telly tonight about how the over-40s have little chance of finding jobs anyway. What with that and the chance of developing Alzheimers before I even retire (TV programme on Terry Pratchett's illness) and... there must be some chocolate in the house somewhere. I'm off to look for it.