You don't want to write about anything real.
So I'm going to let my thought run riot on digital free paper.
It's snowing in Bath, or so Rob says. I crave some snow. The bit fat sort of flake that makes my cry a little because it is soft and cold and pretty. I want to be soft and cold and pretty, here in my snowy jumper. Lizzy calls me pretty. Rob calls me beautiful. Maybe oh yes I am.
I might call someone random beautiful today. Like he said.
I love knitting.
I'll be back soon.
The sky is thick with clouds. It's coming. The snow must be coming. The wind has blown it in from the northeast. A good sign. Yorkshire down to London had snow.
I must go now. I have French.