The funny thing is, apart from on Olive Oyl's windscreen early this morning - we have no ice. We're not even skating on thin ice, we're plodging about in the mud. A new craze in the UK at Christmas time is man-made ice rinks. There's one in Tunbridge Wells. It's melted!
This time last year it was -3 and heavy snow.
This was the field next to us, complete with alpacas, that native English breed of animal all the way from the Andes - lovely, but quite ridiculous creatures!
Today, after a frosty start, it's almost shirt sleeve weather. Ah, the vagaries of the British climate!
So, I'm not skating on thin ice at all, either literally or metaphorically. No risk-taking planned.
And I look at that last statement and think - I SHALL TAKE SOME RISKS, I shall skate on thin ice - with my writing, with my need to generate more (paying) clients, with my this morning's task of creating out of nothing the right sort of emergency respite care for my sister up in Sheffield when I'm down here in Sussex.
This is how I imagine myself:
One can dream...
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