Rainy Days and Doctor Who

You know how when you meet acquaintances in passing, you ask each other “how are you?”, without really caring how each other really are? And how you typically answer “fine!”, regardless of how you really feel – because nobody wants to sit and listen while you unload like Chunk about all the annoyances, injustices and maladies that have been plaguing you recently? That.

I don’t think it would be entirely innacurate to describe my general state as “pretty rubbish” today – but I’m trying not to launch into a huge vent about anything and everything. Let’s make it all a bit more concise – I have a cold that the kids brought home, and the muscles in my back are hurting for no reason what-so-ever. Who knew that sitting up in a chair and stretching two days ago would incapacitate me for several days – not that anybody has noticed – I’ve carried on with the usual round of chores unabated.

It started raining the night before last, and hasn’t stopped since – although I suppose the speed and intensity has varied from hour to hour. This hasn’t stopped our intrepid rescue cat from sitting in the middle of the lawn, soaked to his skin, doing whatever he does while sitting out there for hours. He came in this morning looking for something to eat, and let me pick him up. This is without precedent – he normally keeps his distance from everybody except our youngest daughter – don’t ask me why. We call her the cat whisperer.

The rest of the family are binge watching Doctor Who episodes. One of the satellite TV channels is showing a series of episodes from David Tennant’s run as the doctor. I’m half watching from behind the sofa (the traditional place to watch Doctor Who from, if memory serves). I won’t pretend to understand it – something about a library inside a little girl’s mind, and various people becoming trapped within it. Our fifteen year old daughter had to explain to me what was going on – it was all perfectly obvious to her.

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