As I dangle my feet over the side of the bed on this overcast morning, I discover another reason for wanting to relocate to warmer climes: to not have to put on socks.
It's no longer just the boredom, déjà vu and ennui, the wondering how life might be different here or there, of recalling Dante's lines in The Inferno, "In the middle of our life's journey, I found myself lost in a dark wood"; it's the simple fact that it's getting harder every morning to reach the tip of my toes to slip into those (un-)darned socks!
In the meantime, the routine continues: besocked, I walk into the kitchen, switch on the kettle, and make my first cup of tea for the day.
Cup of tea in hand and my sock-clad feet inside a pair of wellies, I wander down to the horseshed to get a large helping of feed pellets to scatter amongst the wild ducks by the pond.
Then another scoop of wild-bird-mix to take to the large flock of galahs, cockatoos, and parrots waiting by the birdhouse.
And then it's already time again for another cup of tea ...
