Welcome to my perfumed garden

It's 'Tales From Europe' out there, it really is. An icy, frosty landcape lit by a low, white sun; everything drawn in muted, pastel shades. The waterfall will be frozen. It's The Singing Ringing Tree and I needs must go and play in it.

I am hoping to get oot and aboot later and do some pix before it's dark - bearing in mind we get about 6 hours of daylight this time of year, but I have to wait in for the coal/log man for the need is great indeed. We have one bucket of fuel left and a delusional stove that thinks it's powering the QE2 (I've turned it down as far as it will go! she screamed hysterically on a fish-eye lens, mascara running down her cheeks.) Mark's gone out to buy sundry items and I really should be working.

I think more coffee is called for. Then work. Lots of it. Oh yes. ::girds loins. loins refuse to be girded. hand reaches for toast. bottom seats itself somewhere comfy::