As I write my right ankle throbs as if dancing to the sounds of Storm Eleanor who is whipping through the Grinds outside like nobody’s business.
I’d actually typed ‘shipping’ through the Grinds there… and for a second wondered what on Earth had I meant. It doesn’t look good. It is, it just doesn’t look it.
My right ankle is fine, by the way. I just stepped off a step the wrong way towards the end of last year, and stepped onto the the outside edge of my ankle rather than the base of my foot as any normal person stepping off a step would do. I winced then, as I do now, but I only wince now in adverse weather conditions.
Twigs are flying freely outside, and I have just finished rubbing Deep Heat into my ankle. The twigs are indicative of the adverse weather conditions we are being warned about.
The smell is making me sneeze. I don’t like the smell of Deep Heat as it makes me sneeze, but it is very good with the throbbing.
There’s also a rolling rumbling outside, in the distance. A constant rolling rumbling, like a continuous beat of a drum at quick pace.
Storm Eleanor, it seems, is knocking on every door, every window, every turret she can find.
With hatches battened, she won’t be getting in here.
Blow away, Storm Eleanor.
Blow away.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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