Where are my socks?

Strange blip in weather. Good for the garden. After 36 degrees yesterday, a slight shock. I might go back to bed with a hot water bottle and write. Mark is in the studio running his spooky fingers over the keyboard (see pic) and Ezra is flitting between weaving a rag rug, and watching episodes of hell's kitchen. I have had to stop this as there is only so many times you can watch Mr Ramsey finding some bacteria ridden meat and exclaiming 'what ****** left this in the fridge.

Later we might go for a melancholic stroll in the drizzle with the dogs and eat some cake. I feel a need to watch Champagne Charlie coming back, a fire? no that really is ridiculous. It will all be back to normal tomorrow—perhaps.