Monday 09 November
Always a bit of a chore to write my blog on a working Monday. It’s a tough enough job at the best of times. But with everything else going on its that little bit harder in all directions.
We woke this morning to a thick fog. The clocks have been adjusted to save daylight, All Hallows and bonfire night has delivered it shocks and it’s oohs and ahhs – much, much quieter this year. And the wreaths have been laid to rest on cold stone steps on remembrance Sunday. We are trudging along the annual winter pathway and it’s all too familiar and different too. The season of morning fogs is upon us, making the daylight saved much harder to find. And on a Monday morning that affects me.
I’ve never been good at or enjoyed Monday mornings. But today was mild, damp and uninspiring. But it was dry and as I drove to work the fog lifted to form low cloud which was even higher in places, allowing smudges of beautiful bright blue to scrape through the ever lightening greys and whites.
Like suffering a mother of a hangover, I managed to struggle through the day, my head spinning from the emotional liquor of the weekend and it’s news. But the nature of the work means that you cannot wallow in it for very long and by mid-morning I had sobered up. I called Dad this evening and chatted about his day, what he had to eat, what he thought of the days news. The small talk of two blokes, father and son, working through the agenda that befits countless father and son chats up and down the land.
No TV tonight. I think we are all a bit news’d out to be honest. Instead, we take a bit of quiet time to read our books and drink tea. No footy tonight either. We are five days into lockdown #2.
The Bald Birder 