A Cold Day For Murder*

“I’ve left a piece of work a little late,” Seb’s message comes through at 8.16pm last night.  “Realise I’ve got to get it completed by 12 tomorrow.  Bit of an all-nighter I fear.  How are you? Xxx.”

Hope he managed to finish it and get it in on time.  

“I do seem to have a lot of work to do, considering that it’s just the start of my first year,” Seb says on the phone the other day.

“Yes,” I say.  “Wonder how all the eighteen year olds are managing to fit in the drinking and drugs and casual sexuals that they ought to be getting up to?  Maybe they just don’t need to sleep because they’re young or…look – at least you don’t have to do all that.”

“True,” Seb says. “At least I don’t have to do all that.  Honestly: I couldn’t be bothered, my lovely.  There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Have checked the timings of the rugby and the Marlon Brando film and they are of course both showing at the same time – around 4pm on Saturday.  So Seb will have to choose between them.  

“I think we need to be a little bit warmer, don’t we?” Dad says, turning the thermostat up to eleven.  It’s so cold in the parental home that my hands are blue.
It’s 4.53pm and it’s almost dark outside.  Mum is in the kitchen, listening to Radio 4 and making dinner.  Dad is in his office.  The fluffy monster has crept off to sleep somewhere.  

My new biography of the Mitford sisters has arrived and am excited about cracking on with it.  Here it is:

 

Also: there are our boys to watch in the gymnastics later.  The girls were brilliant yesterday – winning bronze: their first ever team final medal.  

Have found the fluffy monster: he is sleeping in the hall: 

 
Had better have a bath before the gymnastics starts at 7pm.

Happy Wednesday everyone!
*1992.  By Dana Stabenow.  A Kate Shugak mystery novel set in Alaska.