, a fictional account of the life of Cicero, I assumed my imaginary toga and set out to join the senate.I resolved to no longer sit in the shadows and watch, but to take an active role and voice any concerns or opinions I may have, with very interesting results.
At one point, after I had said my piece, the meeting had to be halted and silence called to allow one of those present to shiver and shake out her anger in the corner. This being to same person who had visited us on Friday as Volunteer Co-Ordinator to spread deceit and half truths. She even asked Emma why she was here and what she contributed.
I feel no remorse at angering this woman as she angered mine. Aside from this funny five minutes, all slid along smoothly and Kit and I occupied ourselves laying bricks until the sun set.
Imbolc is nearly here and hopefully so is Spring. It can't come quick enough. There's the usual reasons, but my personal one is I have resolved to cut my hair much like a sheep is sheared. I have cultivated a wild mop of insulation with a notion of it with wool to make something. That should gross people out.
Not shaving my face has been cheap, and I do kind of like my beard. But I feel it needs to go.
Diary intervals have slipped to around every three days which isn't acceptable for my memory nor my patience when writing. I put it down to getting slack in the slow winter with nothing to report or recount. Will be better I promise, yet again.
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| The slowly forming woodshed (1 of 4) |
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| A lesson in brick laying |
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| Dogsitting Teasel, whilst his master works on the Hub. |
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