It is still chilly here. I am wrapped, refugee style, in a quilt with a heater two inches from my hand hoping today is the day the correct part arrives.
I had dinner at a very ordinary Italian restaurant on Saturday night but in good company of my friends who had just been to the Balkans. I'd bought A, Patrick Leigh Fermor for Christmas and he delighted in showing me the photo of him in the same pose at the Rila Monastery in Bulgaria. He was just missing the fez.
I walked home. I do love living in walking distance of restaurants and am always grateful to be able to do it. I think I like walking on my own (or with dog) best as it is good thinking time. Having said that I walked to the best coffee shop in Australia yesterday morning and Charlie was much admired by the under 12s (he's so cute, can I pat him, what's his name, dad can we get one….), did another walk in the afternoon with M and then took him out again in the evening.
Last night, we ate roast chicken, watched Harry Potter 3 and Masterchef and climbed into our toasty electric blankety beds. Bliss.
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