I was going to write an insightful piece today about an article in the Sunday Times about blogging in Ireland.
Then I toyed with the idea of doing my own counter-article.
But I am too fucking cold.
There is a gale blowing in through the broken window [I know I should have fixed it, but Herself claims she knows nothing about glazing] and I swear three castrated brass monkeys just walked past outside. The snow is beginning to drift up against the leg of the table.
The car is still a bit iffy, so the village is out. All I have in the house is a spare can of Guinness. Knickers.
I think it is about time to cash in on the time of year.
I think I may just wander around to a neighbour’s house with my can of Guinness and wish them Season’s Greetings.
Of course the poor saps will feel obliged to invite me in.
They usually have a warm house.
And a grand stock of drink.