The mysterious B

Unable to sleep last night. Eventually got up, and drank some chamomile tea, put an icepack on my back, and started reading In Praise of Folly by Erasmus. Even this didn't do the trick. Consequently a little bleary and unfocused. Working on some first words for Helen's Centaur music, which was quite challenging. I also wrote myself a new list, but it seems more nebulous than last week's one.

Bloody cold again, though as yet no snow in Brighton. Went for a walk through the park into town to try to pick up some a packaged from the clowns at Royal Mail. It had already been sent back, thanks to it having been wrongly delivered. Then to the doctor to discuss the constant hobbling. Felt a fraud because I haven't been hobbling at all for a couple of weeks, since I made the appointment. There was a student present in our consultation, which makes me feel like I am playing the Woody Allenish part of a neurotic patient, rather than actually being one.

Walked home, cold despite my several layers. This round trip ticks off my 10k steps for the day, which was good. If this is a mere zero degrees, what will it be like for Romy and the Tobster in Ottowa?

Beth back home and hobbling too, having had her heel scraped to fix her policeman's heel. The ladies much given to watching The Undateables on TV tonight, which I find a bit toe curling. Lorraine off into the kitchen at one point to make some hot chocolate, muttering to Beth en route do you want B in it.

Turns out this B is Baileys which Lorraine has been adding to hot chocolate. But not wanting to put temptation in my way, as I am mostly off boozes at present, simply hadn't mentioned it. My wife, however not much good at the cloak and dagger stuff and the truth was out.