I always look forward to the time after Christmas, when the festivities have died down and we get to spend time at home by ourselves. Yes, I do have to do my tax return and 12 months’ worth of filing, but at a fairly lazy pace and with all the yummy leftovers to help my motivation. This year, however, it has gone crashingly wrong.
Our lovely Phoebus, our beautiful golden boy, is gone. He became seriously ill on Sunday and on Monday had to be put to sleep. He was not quite ten years old. Who cares about filing now? Not me. And how can I manage without his help? After all, my guilty secret is that it was really Phoebs who earned a PhD, not me.
And who really designs all the weaving, eh? And thinks all those big weaverly thoughts?
We are heartbroken without him, and Polly is baffled.
Rest in peace, dearest Phoebles.
Weaving content will resume on Loomsday.