It is, black cat fans, Friday the 13th. We live in a year of multiple Friday the 13ths. I expect, barring ladder disasters, or stepping on the crack in the pavement calamities, or mirror-shattering debacles, we will mainly be fine.
And today was incident free. I felt sad about Terry Pratchett this morning so I went up in the loft and retrieved one if his books to read. I successfully didn't injure myself. I drove to Margate and back in a state of mild tiredness, and the traffic and the drive were ok.
But 13 is a thing, today.
13 is a weight that I can almost touch. 13 stone. If I try, just a little harder, I could be 13 stone and 13 pounds.
And then I would probably give up on weight loss.