the blue funk

Today is a Wind in the Willows day. I feel as if I want to be curled up on a visit to Mole’s house one dark winters eve.

“The Rat paid no heed to his [Mole] doleful self-reproaches. He was running here and there, opening doors, inspecting rooms and cupboards, and lighting lamps and candles and sticking them up everywhere. `What a capital little house this is!' he called out cheerily.”

I want to be in a capital little house, with bunks and candles, a blazing fire and a parlour. I want duvets a plenty and warm mugs of honey and lemon, home made soup and chunks of bread, still warm from the oven.

Although the weather is gloriously sunny, I feel tired and worn out and know I’ve lost the battle to hold off autumn. I’ve even gone so far as to order a new jumper, and find my thoughts turning to winter as the evenings get darker and the mornings have that inescapable chill. I would be prickly but I’m too dulled for that, and instead just sit looking morose and sorry for myself. I have promised myself an early night, and some homemade soup, and hope that this raises my mood from the doldrums. I do so hate to be glum.