We have been cut off by the ice since Christmas Eve.
At first it seemed rather fun, romantic even.
I finished knitting my daughter's Christmas present. I read "True Deceiver" by Tove Jansson. I picked up my CPH again to knit the sleeves.
I cleaned the bedroom.
I started painting the front room. It is Ballet Pink now, which is the perfect shade against the grey granite fireplace.
But FL has slid into depression. He had wanted to meet up with his friends yesterday and again today but he can't get his car up the road. 300 yards of sheet ice conspire against him. He has another chest infection. Right now he is asleep, slumped over the dining table.
When I walk the dog it sounds like we are plunging into a sink full of broken crockery. Every step shatters the top layer of ice and we fall through into the snow below.
Tomorrow, we have arranged for a friend from the city to collect FL from the end of the road to take him to hospital for his Velcade infusion. There are no ambulances to call upon because it is a Bank Holiday. So we will walk over the fields to await his lift - the road is too dangerous for a man with fragile bones.
Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. Two years married! It is so hard to remain positive when he is like this. I busy myself, but my flurry of activity makes him feel worse.
The kids come home tomorrow night. They will have to get a taxi from the airport to the end of the road and we can sledge their bags back across the snow to the house in the dark. An adventure I suppose!