A blur of . . .

 

. . . well, hellhounds, among other things.  I'm unbelievably tired and whacked out, even on my recent usual scale of tired and whacked-out-ness, and even as Lo Text Mondays go this is going to be lo lo looooo, er, low.  And blurry.  I also need to try the assault on my hill while the temperature is still below freezing:  the idea is to hang out around here at the mews whilst the last moments of melt go on outdoors—and then whip down* to the cottage just before it drops below the evil magic ...