It's one of those bleak, late Autumn days when I delight in being one of the lucky ones who are cast on the scrap heap called Old Age. I know what you're thinking. Pool, old beggar has slipped into senility and self pity. Er, no you're totally wrong! The rain is lashing down on the minions who are dashing off to their work; brolly blown inside-out and bodies soaked to at least the second of three layers of warm clothing. Some clutching at an extra-large Costa's coffee in the vain hope that it's tepid contents will warm them when they eventually get to where ever they are destined to toil. I only hope they earn enough to pay their taxes so that they can support me in my leisure ...
Ah, the warmth of a duck-down duvet, a fresh espresso and a cherry Danish! I'll just turn over and have a little nap. Wake me when the weather gets better ...
It's better to travel than arrive ... then again ...