Things are not going well at the Manor.
You see I have been told to take things easy and not to get worried or annoyed about anything. I am not supposed to lift anything or in any way exert myself.
I tried all that for a while in spite of all Herself’s pleas for help and assistance, but she began to smell a bit after a while so I had to row back a bit on that idea.
The worst bit is the scribbling. I know that doesn’t take much effort in the physical sense but the fact is that I have nothing to scribble about. Writing about nothing is a feat I haven’t yet mastered.
I know there are things going on in the world. The Americans have invaded County Clare for the second time and have been so bored they went home again. Britain is once again tying itself in knots thereby proving yet again that its politicians can’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag. But I am supposed to be ignoring all that, which is surprisingly easy to do.
So I spent yesterday wondering what to write about. The urge was there but the well was dry.
And I’m doing the same thing again today.