Will He or Won't He?

Yesterday saw the opening salvo in the season of hostilities, i.e., exams, stressful, hugely time consuming, and somewhat duller than watching paint dry, which, given the right paint, can be strangely absorbing. But before then, I got a little R&R, the first time I’ve been away from home since last September, when I went down to Edinburgh with the Godparents. Very nice it was too, perched in the Godparental eyrie with its amazing views over the city and the firth. I got a couple of days in the National Library, frustrating institution that it is, and there was a highly civilised dinner party.  Then, alas, shades of the prison house closed; and from now on, it will be essays, bureacracy and scripts till February. The whole set-out is being rendered that bit more problematic by the Apocalypse Weather Bear, who might start chucking down snow in large amounts, or there again, mightn’t. At the moment, we have nothing worse than sleety rain, which is something. I have bought a pair of warm boots. Funny-looking things, but comfortable. I have been trying to take more exercise, which, given the present state of sog and Miss Dog’s preference for walking in the woods, has meant donning wellies. But a few days ago, I found to my horror that I had developed a corn. It’s not painful but I have never had such a thing in my life. The wellingtons are the obvious culprits since otherwise I pootle about in Birkinstocks and nothing can conceivably be rubbing on my toe. So walking boots were indicated. They are very definitely warmer than the wellies, and supposed to be waterproof, so if the AWB drops snow on us, I will doubtless be glad of them.