What can I say? Yep, pathetic. I'm calling it a half-day Bank Holiday to make sure I sound English. Just like I dropped the 's' in Lake District on Dave's recommendation that I would then sound like a local. I started late because of my lovely tea. The weather from yesterday had gone north, got a bit colder, turned around and come back down—making it both freezing, a head-wind and in my face. I had seen a couple of long-distance persons going in the other direction and both had stayed in Cowling and so, especially after another person told me the weather was supposed to get
really bad in the afternoon (it's already hailed on me, what could be worse than that, snow?), I decided the half-day was definitely on. Shame was that it took me until three to get there anyway. I've been a bunny in a burrow all afternoon and have nothing to report. I did manage, after a long and convoluted process where they tried to get me to get a local sim instead because it was easier (for them) to get a phone card (or slip of paper with a code). Now just need a public phone and a working day. After yesterday's long essay, you'll be happy to know I am signing off here—
Good night to Cowling, good night to you.
There is no shame in half days, it's quality not quantity I believe is the litmus test.
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