The daffies and the daleks

I was marching along merrily with George when I noticed an ache in the region of my belly button. 'Whoops, perhaps I am marching a little too enthusiastically.' It is, after all, less than three weeks since my operation, and even though it was keyhole surgery it was still surgery and my belly was cut, a fact I don't think revelled in enough. 

So I slowed down. It is the first time I've walked George since surgery, mainly because I've just had too much other stuff to do, but as Husband was cooking the Boxing Day ham I decided some exercise and fresh air would do me good. 

And I had to keep telling myself, 'This is doing you good,' when what felt like little icicles of rain were lashing against me on the beach.  But it was good to be out again and see the Clyne rats enjoying Christmas as well as some early daffs.

The stream has finally broken through on the most direct route to the sea leaving an island and, if vague memories of geography classes serve well, what would be, on a larger scale, an oxbow lake.

Finally signs of a youth spent reading John Wyndham novels. I see a scene and write a script.

'Die Triffids!
'But we will return bigger and stronger!' (Said in a dalek voice. Media cross over.)