It’s been snowing in Lincolnshire, dontcha know? Here’s my snow plough.

But I’ll still be posting from time to time. See you soon.

“I suppose I’d better write a New Year blog post.”

“No, no. You sit there. I’ll do it.”

“No, really, I’ll do it myself. It’ll only take five minutes.”

“Don’t be so silly. You relax. You’re supposed to be on holiday. I’ll do it.”

“No.”

“It’s no trouble. I was just about to do a blog post for everyone, anyway.”

“That’s really nice of you, but really - I’d much rather do my own. I can do yours as well if you like.”

“No, no. Don’t worry about mine. You do yours. I’ll do mine some other time.”

“Really. It’s no trouble. I can dash yours off at the same time.”

“No no. You’re supposed to be relaxing. You do yours. Mine can wait.”

“Okay I will… Bugger. It’s gone 10 p.m.”

“Oh well. You relax. After all, you’re on holiday. Why don’t you do it tomorrow?”

You’ve got to hang something on the walls, make it a home. Don’t matter if it’s a slice of tree trunk with a badly-painted and darkly-varnished cat. You don’t look at it, see. It’s not a sitting room like you know it: it’s an observation bunker. The sofas face the windows, not the walls or even the telly. You look at me and at my cat. I look at you. You look at the river, the ducks look back. Apart from when they’re gang-raping each other. Then I’ll come out and join you and watch.

Been meaning to get a new picture anyway.