Now if Newt were here, I wouldn't be sitting listening to Van Morrison on this cold winter's night. Oh no.
Instead I'd be bouncing like a bunny round this virtual gloom. Singing like Tigger from Winnie The Pooh. Telling here about Tai Chi and the chickens and the fact that Atticus the Finch was still alive and well. That I'm going good and having a bit of a good time at it.
Which makes me sad.