Hips and hoars.

Woken at 4am by a completely seized right hip – probably the cold weather. Of course, being quite strongly me, I didn’t wake up going “ow, Christ, O lor that hurts, woe, woe!” – I woke up laughing my head off, because my body translated the pain into a dream where I, and everyone else in the dream, consistently kept slipping over on their arses. So I was like: “HA HAHAow fuck HA HA HAHA!”

This happens relatively often. My subconscious is big on slapstick. I blame a childhood diet of Laurel and Hardy.

When I stumbled outside with a morning cup of tea to take the air, I found that the ice on the barrel was three quarters of an inch thick (I break it with a stone each morning, for the birds), and the whole garden powdered white where the air had frozen. Lovely.

Anyway, the hip’s eased up a bit now – I’ll do some walking, that might free it up. Or make my leg drop off. Either is fine. I don’t know whether to take it up The Hill, or whether that would be foolhardy. It would be foolhardy, wouldn’t it?

Right, that’s probably what I’ll do, then.

Frozen pork

Nipped cyclamens

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