It’s hot. And I’m not very good at hot. After trying to keep going yesterday, I slept eleven hours out of eighteen, so I’ve taken the hint. Productive work has tailed off to minimal, and tosh rules. I always feel some residual guilt at finding tales of murder diverting, but for the next day or two this is going to be the schedule.
Oh – and did I mention the whiff of death by the back door? Luckily only a minor whiff, so I trust it is only a minor corpse. Perhaps it accounts for the blowfly plague, though the timing seems off. Can’t find the body yet, so I do hope that mummification will be swift.