A Twitten Chernobyl

A poor night's sleep being crawled over by fleas. Up and showered for some considerable time, feeling oppressed by having to schlepp to London, while simultaneously doing some French work, and addressing flea problem. Phoned vet this morning, and then persuaded Beth to pick up the flea spray and new flea treatment for Calliope. This she dropped around at my house.

Had an inspiration on the train for the French work, and so as soon as I had half an hour at lunch was able to sort it out. Luckily not too busy at Keith's agency so I could leave on time. Back home, and treated my poor little itching weasel, and then unleashed clouds of evil flea killer, reassuringly called 'RIP' with a picture of a flea on it, into the house. Calliope, who was following me about the place interestedly, eventually having to be shut out of the house as the noxious cloud did its deadly business.

The angelic Lorraine turned up just as I was finishing this sweaty furniture shifting business, took me to the Battle of Trafalgar where I soon felt much improved despite Calliope doing her new projecting yowls at us from across the road as we entered. After a nice chat Lorraine left for home, and I returned to do several loads of washing, and sorting things out, and flea checking, till I felt I was able to go to bed.

Listened again to Richard and I on the internet. I like being on the radio.