We still haven’t had the promised rain, with the result that the snow is lingering about in a discouraging fashion. Much of it is slush, but not all of it. We left the little car with our patient friends at the garden centre, because we thought the track was too icy when we got back last night. The Professor’s cough, which seemed to be getting better, has come back again, perhaps due to the walk down the track: it’s been three weeks now which is pretty tiresome. We’re getting on with things as best we can. Miss Dog has developed a strange obsession with tussocks. I can only think that voles and so forth are hiding out in them, but she keeps becoming utterly fascinated by some tump indistinguishable, to the human eye, from any other, and huffs excitedly into it, tail wagging furiously, not to be distracted even by a dog-treat. Oddly, though there are deer tracks all over the place, she doesn’t seem to pay them any attention. It has to be said that she probably stands more chance of catching a vole than a deer, but it does strike me that her choice of hobby suggests a certain lack of ambition.