It only snowed for one afternoon last weekend, but freezing temperatures have ensured the pavements and roads are still dangerous and limit activities. No golf means hubby is stuck at home twenty-four-seven and I have to risk life and limb by going out on icy pavements to escape. On the plus side at least my new wellies have been getting some action. It has also ensured the bird population have decided they like my new bird table and have condescended to gobble down anything and everything I put out for them.

Hubby has now confessed he has a cold. The problem is it will now develop into a case of severe manflu, meaning bum in chair, no activity, wall to wall sport on television and much coughing, blowing, sneezing and lack of input on the housework front. I notice it doesn't affect his appetite or make him more inclined to go to bed. Should I catch the cold, he may need medical treatment for injuries.

Paul and family came over on Friday as he was supposedly working this weekend. Mey Ling was subdued and tired, but not objectionable, so we can only hope they'll get over another blip until the next drama. The problem was I kept thinking it was Sunday with them being here. Today I realised I hadn't cleaned the bog, which as you know is a set in stone activity every Friday. So I had to complete that exciting task this morning, which has left me thinking it's Friday instead of Sunday. It doesn't take much to confuse my one remaining brain cell.

Otherwise, days come and go with little to show for them and very little to write about. I'm really going to have to take up bungee jumping, hang gliding, scuba diving, pole dancing or have an affair with Robbie or I shall die of boredom and take my blog readers with me.