It’s 18:42 and I want to be sat down in front of the telly at 19:00, all primed and ready to watch “Dear Diary”–a programme in a series on personal diaries. I’ve always loved reading and learning about other peoples’ diaries/journals.
So then, the day. The big thaw continues and at last light the only snow visible from here on the hills was in a ditch under a hedge on my favourite field. Haven’t seen the ivy tower for some days but there it is, solid, black, and fraudulent as all follies are.
There’s been sunshine in the sky on and off throughout the day. I could kick myself for not taking a photograph of the refurbished living room all resplendent in blind-slatted bands of sun. Looks splendid, it does, and well worth recording.
I’m very cross with myself for falling asleep in my freshly laundered trousers this afternoon. I’d intended to wear them tomorrow to the doctors as being the most suitably loose in the leg trousers I have, facilitating a swift push and pull up over the knee. For some reason medical doctors seem averse to asking an aging man to take off his trousers. Perhaps it’s something to do with the ten-minute slot they’re supposed to allocate to routine visits. All they really have time for is two or three swift questions and a quick prescription for medication. Actually touching the patient is something reserved for a consultant at the hospital, it seems.
Not that I particularly want to be touched.
Hey ho. Getting old is not for the faint of heart.
