It sounds like the end of the world outside. Rain lashing against the windows, high winds, mysterious crashing noises from the garden, the wailing of the damned. Brrrrr.
And, just to make my day perfect, I have a cold. Bloody great. Was just about recovered from the bronchitis (bar the occasional lung-busting coughing fit) and now I am the vile Queen of the Snot People. Lovely.
Ah well, I can drag my weary carcass to London tomorrow and make everyone feel uneasy as I sniffle my way through the day. It's good to have plans.
Mr WithaY's kind mate who brought him home from Heathrow came round for lunch today, and showed us the rather fab DVD he is making with all the podcasts from the shark-tagging trip. I had assumed that they did all the tagging from inside a cage under the water.
No no no.
They were in a very small inflatable boat, jabbing at the sharks from above, as other members of the team dangled revolting bits of dead fish in the water, jerking them away from the shark just as it thought it was getting a nice mouthful. They have photos of one of these small boats with a huge hole bitten in the side, after one of the Great White Sharks decided she had had enough of this treatment. Gah.
I'm very glad I had no idea that was all going on.
So. Time for a bite (heh) of supper and then an early night, and then tomorrow a long day up to the Smoke. But Mr WithaY is home, so at least I won't be coming home to a cold*, dark, empty house, to eat my meagre supper of bread and scrape** and cry myself to sleep***.
*Well, warm, but you know, dramtic license
**Fresh pasta and ice cream, but not in the same bowl
***Watch Futurama DVDs and then have a nice bath