Winter in Amsterdam.
Winter in Wales.
It is a freezing cold Sunday, Richie seems to have many layers in order to brave the north easterly wind that is coming here straight from Siberia.
It has been snowing for most of the day, which resulted in some happy snowballs being thrown up at the bookcase sculpture; that is mounted on the wall outside our bedroom window.
The books are all books written by local writers, some well known in the Netherlands, and the artwork was by a local artist.
Got too late again last night and to sleep even later, three times just as I was falling asleep Spike had to move, I did not get cross with him.
So anger did not flood my brain making sleep impossible.
But still it eluded me which was very sad indeed, especially as I have been sleeping so well recently, I think that I finally slept at 5 am and slept until 12.30.
Since then the afternoon has sped past and it is once again very dark and cold looking outside, almost glad I do not have to take the dogs out.
But then again think that I would love to say ‘oh I’ll go with the dogs this time’
Realising recently that our memories are a great resource, sometimes I realise that depite a clear memory of a place, I have not been out and about for ages.
Yet my visual memory is extremely accurate, it can never be as good as those that are topped up daily at the source.
