Hello Powells,
It’s Sunday. It’s wet. My house is darker than a black hole and as such, so is my mood which is blacker than a pot of Higgins Black Magic (that’s ink, if you didn’t know). Stefan has hidden himself downstairs hoping to find a quiet spot away from my grumblings, which have spanned a wide range of topics today including light deficiency, lack of wardrobe space and why the rug looks dusty even though I’ve hoovered it.
When I am in these foul moods I’m only in the mood for two things:
Period dramas, preferably written by Julian Fellowes.
Drawing.
Unfortunately for me, Stefan told me several days ago—well within our agreed time frame for such announcements—that toady he would be watching two football matches back-to-back. I, being in a light and breezy mood mid-week agreed to this without considering I may be in need of a period drama.
That has left option 2 as my only available choice and so far today I’ve filled several pages. I’ve managed to find the enthusiasm to scan them and share them with you, thereby sparing you from my grumblings about why our washing machine doesn’t display how long each wash cycle takes, meaning when I put a load on I don’t know if it will be finished in 13 minutes or 13 weeks.
I have been enjoying drawing in abundance recently after I had a profound experience which changed the way I view life…
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