What was I thinking, letting all my loyal drainers down.
Must. Whip. Self. Soundly.
What's all this snow about, then? Its nearly April. Bloody loads of it. All white and fluffy. Houses that look sugar coated. Fields that look like huge trifles.
All these food metaphors are making me hungry. And I've just eaten a rather naughty chocolate tiffin from Costa.
I'm waiting for Cherie. She's having a photo shoot. Dressed as a school girl.
Not that kind of photo shoot. I've told you about that mind before.
No, in the style of Hogwarts. It's for Caroline, the Hufflepuff.
I'm sitting, right now, in Costa Accrington watching the local muggles trudging against the wind with beet root faces and gritted grins. Everyone is buttoned or zipped into woolly coats. Hats and scarves against the brazen gusts.
Tonight, it's Earth Hour. You have to turn off your lights and electrical gadgets for an hour. We've taken part over the last few years. This year, I think it's been badly publicised. So I did my bit by shouting about it to my BookFace amigos.
And today is the final day for submissions for the Clitheroe Platform Gallery Open. Cherie is submitting some butterflies in a piece entitled Butterfly Carnival. Well the Latin name for that, which I can't pronounce never mind write. Her submission is at the last minute as usual. The window for entries closes at 4:30pm.
She's just called me that she's finished at the photographer's.
I'd better go and brave the blizzard.
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