The sun is shining (into my face, actually, and onto the laptop screen which makes it quite hard to type, but I'm not complaining).
I'm still in bed. All the time I sit here, I feel well, and energetic, and ready to go. Then, when I get up, I realise that it is just an illusion. Simple answer, stay in bed.
With my entertainments all to hand, and a tray full of drinks to last. The mugs contain hot water (what a friend used to call "an old lady's drink" but it's what I like drinking at the moment). The advantage is that it doesn't taste horrible when it goes cold, unlike tea or coffee.
BB is off round to the parents again. They are moving, hopefully on 10th February, which is a major undertaking at any stage of life, and a mega undertaking when one is "of maturer years". They are managing pretty well, and are now in the pre-move phase of de-cluttering and sorting ready for the packers in just over a week's time. (Keep your fingers crossed, though. I don't like to tempt fate). There is a huge amount of work involved in fitting the contents of their current flat into the new flat. I should be there too, going through clothes, sorting books. But I'm not, and it can't be helped.
I'm always exhorting my piano students to practice things slowly, ("no, properly slowly"), and in very small segments, in order to learn them faster. Time to take my own medicine; do things slowly, in small segments, in order to get better faster.