It is 5:58pm.
The house is freezing.
We do not have a heater.
Although we do have a fireplace, in which I have set a fire, ready to go.
I want to light it.
Badly.
But the longer the fire is on, the more wood I burn, and the faster the planet burns too.
Bloody carbon.
Therefore, my mission is to hold out until the Buckwell gets home and there are two of us to damn the planet. Then, and only then, will I light the fire.
In the meantime, I will stay at the laptop, moving my frozen fingers rapidly over its warm keyboard, until the euphoria caused by writing causes the rest of my body to emit a toasty literary glow.
What bollocks I am talking. Forget it. This is a f**king stupid pointless mission.
I'm putting on the fire now. And opening a bottle of wine.
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