James's fiance Alana is with us, so he he is walking around with a sheepish grin looking like the lambs he'll be tagging tomorrow (only they lose their tails and get castrated so I hope he's not taking imitation too seriously).
The weather continues vile and windy. More wood was cut, more words written, physio was visited and it was suitably sore. It turns out to be my pelvis rather than my back and I have suitable exercises. Soon I will be just like Elvis... and leave the building.