Is the Norfolk winter conducive to "quiet enjoyment" (as it were) of a Man Cave established in a garage? Especially for an African gentleman?

We're having an extended Indian Summer in Stratford, and with any luck it might even last to Remembrance Day. The current long-range forecast calls for complete overcast and a high of nine Celsius on Friday, which sounds warmer than normal but no less gloomy than is typical for the occasion.

The ol' bank account took another hit last week with the completed repair of my old wing-back armchair, a family heirloom that had developed a 50-mission wobble. Once the upholstery was stripped off, it proved to have suffered almost complete glue loss in its major joints, remaining in one piece thanks only to habit and a few dowels. The furniture rehab guy, large and lumpy Ron, noted that the frame was carved and joined entirely by hand, and made of a kind of mahogany that is now pretty well extinct. He figures that the chair could well be more than 200 years old. With rather a lot of 21st-century glue and completely new upholstery, it should be good for another century or so of extended reading.

The upholsterer will bill me for another pound of flesh. By the time this project is complete, she will have earned it.

My back is still giving trouble, so I feel absolutely no compunction about the great heaps of leaves lying around the property. Last week-end, I cleared the ankle-deep patio and stuffed a dozen large garden-waste bags, but even that short spasm of normative yard work cost me a major extension of my latest bout of lumbar misery. The trees have yet to finish shedding, so I'll just let it be -- maybe until the snow covers up the evidence of my sloth.

We put the clocks back last night. It is now almost dusk, at 1643 hours Eastern Time. By supper it will be full dark.