Dear February


You’re a different kind of a month. You’re short, quirky and what Wednesday is to days, you are to months. That is, few can spell you.

I’m fond of January. Kind of have to be because it’s my birth month but, let’s be honest, January can be a bit much – a bit loud. A bit too “new year, new me“.

Listen, February, one thing we know for certain is that you will be different. Some of that change will be beyond your or my control; and some of it I will take responsibility for, starting now …

Here I am, on the 1st, writing in the morning.

Good start, February, good start.

Sitting down in the morning means I get to sleep earlier. It means I get to unwind rather than wind up before I close my eyes. I need that. A few people have mentioned, in comments, and over WhatsApp and email, that they read my daily post the next morning. That means they go to sleep earlier than I do. Unacceptable.



Photograph of the day: Look closely, there’s something white hanging from one of the drawers behind Kit. It is probably one of Jess’ socks. Wait, that would mean Jess had any socks left in her pairs. I did an inventory this morning. I could find only one pair. Jess denies any wrongdoing. She says she has not worn any of them. Pathetic attempt to distract from the truth that has now been uncovered: Jess is the one-sock culprit.


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