It's a funny old time of year. Not particularly cold, but bleak and grey. I think that saying that I have sad is a bit extreme, but I do find that I am different at this time of year. Motivation comes a lot harder, and I am very lethargic. My time spent exercising declines, and I tend to drink more alcohol. I like to spend time outside, and that becomes harder when daylight is so much shorter. D has come back from the Canaries for a week, a trip that went tits up from the start, but he can't wait to get back. He's only been there four months and already detests a November in the uk. By tomorrow evening he'll be back in his shorts taking a swim. Spawny git. J is one tomorrow. ONE. It hardly seems a few months since the little vandal was born, and now he can walk, and the whole interaction thing has started, which I adore. In that sense, I hope he's like C, who has a marvellous sponge like quality. Only five more months of bleak and grey. Whoopee