No more long journeys for awhile. We’ve both agreed this. Though there are few day trips. It must be so, work demands it as do family obligations. For this week at least we are staying put. I must write. It is a big haul for me. My body is made tired in the cold. I walk nevertheless, albeit gingerly watching out for ice with my legs like stiff iron poles. The moon helps. She shone brightly this morning, dispensing with the need for a torch (thankfully, as trying to get my three-pairs-of-gloves-hands into my pocket to get it out is virtually impossible). I love that silvery light. And there was no-one about other than the man (I presume it was a man) driving the yellow gritting lorry. He looked like he was taking a detour or was out on a joy ride going round and round the Prom. Perhaps he was taking his mum out on a trip, he said at breakfast. Yes, I said, handing her the occasional Werther’s Original and going slow whenever she wanted to pour herself some tea from her flask.
It was nice to laugh.
How I love him.
