Oh dear - blogging has rather gone to the wall this week, what with the pressures of work: mostly battling with trying to get the new catalogue online as well as doing the company return and numerous other administrative tasks, all of which seem to be complicated and long-lasting, and not even complicated in an interesting way.
So, all my reviews etc are bubbling under. Or something. They're certainly not here, at any rate.
Dog has still had to be walked however, though she did celebrate my lateness this morning in taking her out by raiding daughter's Christmas bag, which she had left down the side of the sofa in the kitchen. Dog is a Saint in Labrador form, as despite the fact this bag (as I've now found out) had edibles in it, she had not touched it, and that bag's been there weeks. Boredom finally made her crack and daughter's chocolate coins (dog is luckily not sensitive to chocolate) are no more. Neither is the chocolate orange. I am very partial to chocolate oranges, and if I'd realised this one yet survived, would have entered into some sort of barter with daughter for it.
I am wittering on. Larks don't witter. They sound like this:
The beanfield has larks living in it, and they've started singing again this week, having been virtually silent over the winter. It was one of the joys of moving here to walk through that field for the first time and stand amazed as lark after lark flew up and sang. Blithe spirit indeed.