Glamorous frost this morning. A winter wonderland in two jacket and woolly hat temperatures. And I might have been out there with the device that takes photographs, but another infernal device upon which we have learned to depend took to its sick bed, and no amount of cooing would persuade it to pull itself together. Me, I go into decline on such occasions, become rambling, and generally speaking some sort of injury occurs to either the cooer or the cooee. I had a couple of minor scratches, a sore leg, I might have pulled a wing muscle and the stress produced a headache. So I gave the cooee a thermometer to put in his mouth, that way both of us might at least look productive, while I contemplated parts from one of those places where I imagine the lucky employee is encouraged to smoke cigarettes, drink beer and play air guitar in the work place. And it's those sort of parts that can take weeks, so I went ahead and ordered a selection.
The Artist, on the other hand, responds very well to these sorts of calamity. While I was engaged in random rushing around, desperately seeking the correct tool for what I hoped was the correct job, she spotted a boy Deer with six points. And she explained to me that because his antlers did not extend much beyond his ears or his shoulders, and despite his six points, this boy Deer was a youngster. His voice hardly deep enough to be considered a paragon of the Deer world. She was also able to take a few photographs of the wonderland. By mid-afternoon, with the sun high, I removed the hat, and I was able to find a degree of calmness. I decided a solenoid was stuck, so I snatched back the thermometer from the infernal device, and did some internal tapping around with the end of a screwdriver, which can sometimes be foolhardy. But, I believe the French modestly use the word 'voila' on such occasions. For my part I suddenly decide I am a God. Always an error, because one hour later there was a thermometer back in somebody's mouth.