Truly, there is no Father Christmas. No tooth fairy, poo fairy or guardian angel.

Today - which is a few days ago... if you see what I mean... I did a victory lap around the open plan office at work. Squirrel. 3,500...

At the top of the hill we saw this guy in the photo.

The sky, to be fair, was pretty in places.

This very sorry looking thing was in the garden the other day.

The dog objects to me meditating.

...before I must hand in the squizzel essay.

Anders was very anxious as I refilled the bird food.

It's beautiful when the ground is glazed with frost and the valleys deep in mist.

...or the golden thread.

... I could say I'd seen the light.

This is Anders on the roof of the conservatory.

An angel in canine form.

So, back to the bloody cyborgs.

The second spell of lockdown...

It's worse than fungus-like outgrowths of misery.

A glimpse of blue sky...

As the craniosacral therapist did not actually touch my head, I went to the physio.

I've long been keen on foxes.

We adjust, though, don't we?