The day is as dismal as a winter's day can be.No frosty joy, just a filthy, leaden sky pregnant with mizzle. It's foul. Any plans one might have had, and to be fair they were few, are crushed by this scene of damp depression. The day is spent in a slouch of nothingness, even resorting to zznoooker on the box to take the edge off the caged in feeling.
Pascale came round at lunchtime to take Emsy to the pictures. Feeling a bit feeble I ask her to ring up and sort out our hotel booking for Marrakesh. I should have done it myself (as Pascale told me), and having listened to her conversation realised that I could, and should have done it.
I catch a bit of the news. More rain, and with it flooding, is anticipated for much of the country in the week to come. What a dismal January!
Over the pond, it would seem Hilary is now on course and that Obama is struggling. McCain looks set to be her opponent. Not up to speed enough to know precisely when "Super Tuesday" is, but I sense it's not far away.
The week ahead is bereft of bookings. I have only about 14 hours of work in the diary. I have to get this thing moving, because I really feel I am getting the hang of it, and am certainly on a bit of a roll as far as test passes go.
The mighty messiah Keegan has his first game at Newcastle. An astonishing 0-0 draw with Bolton Wanderers. First signs that the press might realise what prats they are writing him up as the Lord God incarnate.
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