I know two Terries in Truro: He-Terry (Terry) and She-Terry (Terri). Tonight, I came back to a gentle admonishment from He-Terry (who kindly follows my blogs) that I should make these posts more positive. He is quite right, of course. I have no right to be so grumpy and crone-like, even if I have nearly attained the age of The Crone - a female archetype which, so my Falmouth friend, John tells me, gives permission to let oneself go and go on at all and sundry as a sort of warm-up to full-tilt Old Git-dom. In mitigation for these bursts of Crone-like crabbiness, I offer a quote from the preamble to my daughter's quarter-term report, which states: 'The early part of the Lent term can be characterised by cold weather and a certain feeling of post Christmas deflation.' Quite.
She-Terry, meanwhile, decided to bring me a pasty for my supper in case I had nothing in after my tough journey through post Christmas snow, which hasn't so much deflated the UK today as brought it to a state of near prostration. The pasty was cold, but it warmed the cockles of my heart no less for that. And I escaped the worst of the weather. And my daughter is safe, and the hamster is still alive, at the ripe old age (for a hamster) of two years two months. And, as the train came through Lostwithiel, I saw one solitary golden daffodil cheering up the punters from a station planter. Yes, indeed: I should - and I do - count my blessings.