Lorraine on mute

Monday and still feeling a bit meh, adding a touch of a cough to the general throaty tiredness. Lorraine very much on mute first thing, croaky and whispery with the sore throat. 

The Tobster's birthday. I'd had a good chat with him yesterday, and wished him happy birthday then.  Mum, and she said she had spoken to him too. Both sympathetic about all the balls he is juggling. Mum told me that Ben across the road is depressed because of this wretched garage he had built several years ago. There is now an open forum on the local government website - as the building has retrospectively been contested - where one or two neighbours, like George the genius that lives next door -  are saying horrid things. We decided me going up tomorrow probably not the best idea, I will aim for later in the week because I don't want to saddle mum with my wussy throat. 

Excellently, although I didn't have enough brainpower to write, but I did have enough to do my books and send them off to my accountant, for what should be the last time. It only took a couple of hours, as there was not too much, ahem, economic activity in the last tax year. In fact I made very little. Felt pleased with myself for getting this done. In other important news, I went to the supermarket to get ice cream to soothe Lorraine's throat, and watched a bit of the European Cup of Nations, where lots of blokes played footie.

In the evening Lorraine made dhal and cabbage and a fabulous chicken curry. All well, despite both of us being less than well.

Below a young Toby blowing bubbles in the garden of where we once lived in Kingsbury.