Still very little traffic on the lane outside, and the surface is lethal, but yesterday evening and this morning we went for lovely walks, trudging in the deep snow at the edge of the tarmac. I cut a large slice of cake for David to make sure I walked a decent distance, all of maybe 300 meters, and his face was a picture when he opened the door, so surprised to see us there. In return he presented me with a packet of chocolate biscuits, this being the one thing I told him on the phone earlier in the week that I craved. I wouldn't go in as it was snowing again and windy, and I was afraid I'd never get home. Hugo was off his lead again, running freely around in the absence of both temptation and danger. This morning we ventured as far as the hill, and it was exhilarating to be out as normal, and to see the dog enjoying the exercise. I thought he'd hate being out in the snow, but he loves it.
It's been another long day, perhaps the longest so far. Tomorrow I'm going out for lunch, and to stock up the larder again. I've run out of odd things like pasta, peanut butter, and my Sunday treat of pain au chocolate. I'll have to pretend tomorrow is Sunday, so keenly do I look forward to this weekly luxury.
I'm reading Alan Bennett's A Life Like Other People's which comes from his Untold Stories, and though I've read it and them before, probably more than once, I'm enjoying them. His parents are an endless source of material for his writing, and his fondness for this odd couple is very touching. He reproduces a photograph of two Aussie soldiers that his Auntie Myra met in India during the war, and his description of one of them is a hoot: "Ossie is weighed down, practically over-balanced, by what, even in the less than skimpy bathing trunks of the time, is a **** of enormous proportions, the bathing costume in effect just a hammock in which is lolling this collossal member." His awe is as funny as the picture.
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