I can go out if I want to

[desperance]

Yes, I can. I have baked bread and done laundry and all those good Sunday-morning things; but more, so much more than that, I have taken delivery. Yes. Of my book. From Amazon. Apparently, grumbling was the way to go.

So. I can go out. But do I want to? The world is still entirely full of snow. It's a bit squishier than it has been, I think - but it's due to get colder again next week. I could go to the supermarket and stock up on essentials (like wine, f'rexample: not that I'm short, but it's good to keep topped up). That might be sensible. Only it would be a labour of wading through cold wet stuff, and it's a long way, and I'd probably fall over.

Or I could go to the Asian corner-store in search of ajwain and anardana, which would be less far and more fun. But then I would not have increased my supply of wine, and the supermarket-trek might be even less fun next week if the road ices up as predicted.

Oh - also, I am about to run out of gin. And lemons. I'd forgotten that. Supermarket it is, then.

If I survive, I might go to a party up the road this afternoon. Apparently my lack of invitation was an oversight, not a deliberate snub. Snf! I might just stay at home and sulk read a book. But if I go to the party, I might get to borrow spanners for tap-fiddling duties.