dum di dum di dum. another year or so flashes by, and you vow that your Trappist habits will be no more. you wake up and it's spring and there's a surge of enthusiasm that lasts until you read the paper. but you press on regardless, eh?

i heard a philip larkin poem on 'thought for the day' this morning - 'days'. i must be getting old, because the cliches about making the most of every day feel emotionally true.