The Christmas break is almost over just as Boris and Tusker seem finally have settled into their old routine. Ah well, cats are resilient creatures. Mrs Pumphrey has been enquiring this last week when I am resuming my work at Belshade and whenever she appears across the garden fence both Boris and Tusker mewl plaintively like prisoners with a view of freedom just beyond the wall. I tell them that Mrs Pumphrey spoils them and that a little discipline is good for their soul. They do not listen.
Would I might tell Mrs Pumphrey that I am never entering Belshade College again, but the income is simply too useful. I expect January and February to be the bleakest months of the year and utterly dread getting snowed-in while at college. Getting snowed-in in Avebury would not be nearly so bad.
Never much enjoyed the post-Christmas months. Spring is so far away and even the snowdrops along the Here Path have yet to show themselves. A jackdaw chattering up one of the stones was the only sign of life as I returned into the village and I did not even spend an hour in the Red Lion, preferring my own fireside and a cup of tea. Black’s Antique shop still stands empty with its white-washed windows staring out onto the road like an old blind woman who’s lost her way.
My son spent Christmas in Bangkok. Good for him. Visited my father’s grave in Salisbury on the 27th of last month. Twelfth anniversary of his death. I do miss him so.