I'm feeling a bit chilly.
What, with the snowy pictures in the papers, and the howling winds and rattling windows in this old house we live in, the rain pelting against the top room window, I started thinking about our Christmas plans, and about Dylan Thomas.
See, my other half is Welsh, and so every year we take the A30 up and then across the border and have a few days with the family.
What reminded me of Dylan Thomas was the book above; a book I've only recently bought during a trip to his Boathouse back in the summer. Of course it's not the first time I've been to Thomas' old house, after all, I lived in Wales for 7 years, shame on me if I hadn't been - Welsh by association AND with being a writer.
Anyway, today I was standing at the top room, hot mug of tea, watching the cars below. The sky was darkening, and the street lamps twinkled in the rain on the roads when a poem ran through my head - a Dylanesque poem I may try and write down, and I thought, I must read this book to my kids.
It's definitely turning colder.