well it's the morning and horsemouth is writing again.
'a letter from anna kilvert saying she had left to me in her will a private service of silver communion plate...' - kilvert, diaries, 27th november 1871.
nothing from goethe in italy. nothing now until the 1st of december.
the spinach and the broad beans look like they are suffering with the frost (horsemouth doesn't know if they will be able to come back).
today it warmed up (but it didn't start raining like it was supposed to). horsemouth delivered the eggs and then took the waste bin down the drive. (so probably a mile all told)
the budget
reeves gives it a good punt but it's not wealth taxes so it won't make any real difference. in fact by leaving the tax thresholds where they are until 2030 (despite inflation) she will drag more and more poor people into the tax system (and thus take more tax money from poor and middle income people).
how is horsemouth?
well his nerves feel a bit scraped. he doesn't have enough to do (and it's making him anxious). he's looking forward to the birmingham thing mid-december (as a piece of activity).
in the evening he watched shetland with his mum but having watched a bit of the budget he didn't hang around for the news.
he watched a video boom, boom, labubu and then the nominations video for the uk (and ireland) folk awards.
the reply from the tower master of the bell ringers has come back (it's ewyas harold) now to check that he's actually got a lift in (otherwise he's walking).
No comments:
Post a Comment