Making promising things worse

While writing today, I skilfully make quite promising things much worse till I stopped. I am feeling stale, and easily put off my stroke.

Tom came this morning, and went straight to sleep in the spare room. Luckily there was no crashing today, but the bathroom saga continues, plumbers on the phone suggesting a plastic shower tray, and talked me into this. By the end of the day, and talking this over with Lorraine and the internet, it was clear I'd made the wrong decision, so will have to reverse this tomorrow.

Walked to Hove this afternoon, to call on Janet and Ken. Janet is feeling down for several understandable reasons, not least the recent death of her sister. She has seen the doctor recently too, who has suggested a scan on her liver. We ate the chocolate walnut brownies and chatted, and then went up a ladder to peer at various smoke and carbon monoxide alarms and track down one that was beeping, which (with my usual DIY talents) fell out of the ceiling Rawlplugs and all as soon as I touched it.

Janet and  Ken are going to get a rescue cat shortly, as a replacement for the much missed Rossini.

Walked homewards, and bumped into Richard Gibson on the street. We talked about meeting up soon. He was due to play Bristol this weekend, but had to cancel. However some of the gigs have been going well. Home, succumbing to a 5b bus, I cooked chickpea curry for myself and Lorraine, and later rescued two frogs this evening from Calliope.

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