under another sun

Pinch and a punch for the first of the month. Out of bed and, pausing only to make Lorraine a cup of tea and feed the cats, before striding down London Road to get my annual fasting bloods done. I wonder if enforced starvation a few days before is going to make my results weird. As I passed Rick around the corner's house, Rick happened to be outside. I told him where I was going, and he said there was a national shortage of vials and wondered if there was something seriously wrong with me if they had authorised it. Hope not. In and out of the medical centre in moments. The nurse, no older than your average victorian chimney sweep, was rapid and efficient.  Home with a loaf of chewy brown. Lorraine, Sam and I chatting in the kitchen and Sam laughing at the word phlebotomist when Lorraine said it.  At my desk unwanted tasks such as having to create an account online at Company's House so I could end my Ltd company made me want to self harm. But with the information my accountant...

Lorraine went into school for a few hours for a meeting and to do some office work. A big psychological barrier, but she returned reasonably unscathed to make a fish pie of some excellence. I bashed the spuds.  Feeling better, I had a day to dream and write deathless poetry... ( insert record scratch SFX ). Nope. More absolute f*ckery from Natwest today: a letter about an unpaid cheque on the account that is now closed, and I have spent since April sorting out.  This made me feel murderous I wrote a very scary note to the complaints guy. The  Natwestisögur  goeth on forever. Otherwise admin and billing to do, as well as an abundance of filing, which was dull but improving.  The good part is things that a few days ago seemed utterly impossible, now seem doable. Spoke to the Tobster today, on the edge of a little Canadian lake, watching the Romy swim in it. He's planning to come over in October. I loped off at lunchtime like a diurnal Mr Hyde to see Jewel, who got...

I'm mostly back to normal now after the norovirus, with only residual whining. Lorraine much better too.  I made it as far as the local shops to buy bread, otherwise I lay low, reading an interesting non-fiction book by David Grann called  The Lost City of Z  about a fanatical Amazon explorer called Major Percy Fawcett who -- having mapped and explored vast areas of the Amazon -- made his last journey in search of a mythical lost city, never to return. Some vile descriptions of what 1920s insects can do to you there. My God, the flappers.   The Natwestisögur continues. Like an ancient Viking heading for Iceland over the stormy seas, I wrote again to my complaint handler, as the request for a bank card to go with my account has disappeared without trace, despite having a reference number etc.  I told Lorraine I had got an out of office message from him, and she told me the clue is in the name: it's a bank holiday.  Mrs Kenny and I watched the second ep...