The weather's gone to cock in London. The rot set in yesterday. Yesterday was Sunday, so it wasn't too bad. The gardens of the capital were parched and needed a drop anyway, and there's something mildly romantic and pleasing about watching a lawn slake its thirst from behind double-glazed patio doors. Today, though, is Monday, which means work. And work under slate-grey skies and drizzle is miserable. I woke up in great spirits too, which is doubly annoying. The elements have put me on the mood back foot.
There's no inspiration abroad when it's like this. Objectively, I've got a lot to be positive about: we've got some exciting stuff in the diary chez-nous, loads of travel and excitement, right there, on the horizon. And yet, I cannot get myself motivated.
Perhaps a fizzy drink would help?
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