Pick up your pens
RUDYARD KIPLING’s ‘Needful job that’s crying to be done’, about which he waxes lyrical in , can often be put off at this time of year. ‘It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s frosty, the earth has an impenetrable crust and I will damage the lawn if I walk across it’ are all legitimate excuses. Better, perhaps, to make notes from time to time on the things that have annoyed us: the path that is in the
