I'm so very bored already, this time. Last time I spent most of my time in the garden, which did it a lot of good, and me, too. I managed time out there this morning, but it was too squelchy to do much.
But I'm bored, even with reading, and I'm one of those people who always has a book on the go, in every room in the house.
I seem to be hitting nothing but brick walls in family history research, I've written the letters to the people I usually send letters to with their Christmas cards, doing the letters and sending them on their own, early. I've been doing crosswords like mad. I'm not into jigsaws.
There's nothing much on telly, and I don't like watching it during the daytime, in any case. There's not the lovely obsession of the Rootschat Panto (that seemed to die out last year), I've used up all my stock of sewing fabric, and done all the washing and ironing as a record turnaround. I can't find wallpaper I like, in order to do some home decorating whilst tied to base, although I've been intending to do that for weeks....
The cats think I ought to copy them, and doze in a cosy corner, but that doesn't help. I've even done all the housework I can find to do. And re-organised bookshelves a bit. Oh dear, oh for something to fill my mind with joy.
How are others coping?