Scroogey

 It is strange how tiring driving cars at night can be. It was not much of journey, to regensburg and then back again this morning, but it has left the old body tired now.

The son is up and is repairing his moped, a project upon which he has been working for a number of years. 

His youth still lets him do things like that, and that is good.

In the morning, sit down and work out what went wrong during the last two days whilst attempting to use the home printer to proof a file in an attempt to produce a preview of a properly printed work. It turns out that the problem was trying to correct something that had already been corrected. The simple logic was that the correction was done by a computer, a machine without intelligence and blind and uncaring. And the real problem is that this was forgotten.

Walk around town for a short shopping spree, there is nothing worth getting, except for cat food, that has been sold out almost everywhere.

Christmas has not been worthwhile yet, today was spent alone, like Dicken's character Scrooge. Tomorrow is a chance to go for a short walk to visit a woman who makes mosaics, make a visit and get some wine. That was an invitation. Then there is the invitation on Christmas Day.