Sharks are Chuck Norris's Bath Toys

Back to work I go for the next three days. Just finishing off my second cup of coffee before getting ready to drive into town. Scott is frying something meat-stinky in the kitchen with eggs. He may cook enough for me, and may not. He didn't offer. I'm not hungry, either way, though must and will eat something before walking out the door. Or not. Sometimes I just make myself some toast when I get to the office, and eat it at my desk.

Alison and her beautiful naturally curly hair hard at work, supervised by Pixie and Viggi.

The days are getting longer, and although we had snow over the weekend and it's cold again, none of that will last. Before long I'll be out in the flower bed in the evenings, or going for walks.

Soon I'll come home Thursday nights rather than staying over at Everett's to visit and watch a TV series with him. I won't want to be stuck indoors, no matter what.

Everett has been introducing me to Torchwood, now. It doesn't have the happily resolved endings that Doctor Who does. And I still am not a fan of science fiction monsters/aliens, danger and adrenalin and killing. But I do like spending time with my boy and afterwards, as I lie on the mattress in the living room, ready to fall asleep, he reads me a long list of Chuck Norris's imaginary, legendary superhuman qualities and we laugh together. My favourite is "Sharks are Chuck Norris's bath toys." I love the silliness, and so does Everett.