Good Friday

It’s uncanny. Here we are, on a Bank Holiday – Good Friday no less – and things are very far from good. TL has gone away again to ‘think’. The children are with Mr X. Even the cat, darling Mme Bovary, is a bit offish. The weather is grey and cold in London.

Oh well. At least it’s the one time of the year when you can walk out of the supermarket with two carrier bags full of chocolate and not attract any curious looks. Well, not many, anyway.

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