A sad day for the world.

 

The weather has been cold and hostile here, with a powdering of snow at first. I didn’t walk. The tax accountant came back with lots of returns for me to sign. Once I’ve paid her – no small amount – that should be that, tax-wise, for nearly a year. It’s a good feeling. Helen has recently exercised her Enduring Power of Attorney and now has access to my bank accounts. She is going to go up to the splendid Royal Bank of Scotland branch in St Andrew Square and pay what the accountant says I owe the Queen. That will be strangely easier than doing it myself on the computer. But it still left me too flat to slog around Drummond Place Gardens.

 

I finished that first front of the Aroon jacket at last.

 

It took me all six guesses to get Wordle this morning. I saw some headlines as I was firing it up which suggested that some people disapproved of today’s word because it was too British. I disapproved because it was too slang-y. It’s not a word I would ever use.

 

Helen pointed out this morning that she was nearly as old as my husband was when he retired. It’s a disconcerting thought, and even more true of her sib (Helen is the youngest). Alexander’s 62^nd birthday looms – he’s the one who has never been forgiven for not being born on the 29^th of February.

My land line is still not working, I don't even know how to approach the problem, but I realised today that I had better figure it out and do it, because if it isn't working my falls alarm -- I wear it around my neck -- isn't either.