2007 — 21 July: Saturday already?

Where did that week go, I wonder? Just had the bill from the Wessex Nuffield for Her papers (which She did read, unlike me) and the two bits of soup-and-a-roll that I had there with Her. (So much for thinking I'd blagged a free roll!) And there was an amazing-sounding bird around 4 a.m. flapping around and laughing. A Nazgul? (More likely a heron, according to they who know from over the road.) Maybe they all just sound amazing at that time of day?

It's now 08:20 or so and soon time for the first batch of meds. We didn't manage to stay awake for long enough to greet Junior last night but I was able to stagger down and let him in. He's currently zizzing away, of course.

Later that day

It's 10:30 and the last of the morning meds is safely on its way down the hatch. Time to wake Junior, perhaps? Not quite yet.

An hour on, and I think the two male hunter-gatherers will be off to Lidl soon, weighed down by a detailed list of domestic necessities, but let's see if this blasted rain eases off first, shall we? Besides, we don't really want to be crushed by the hordes of Harry Potter shoppers, do we?

Real Men don't do lunch

Home are the mighty hunter-gatherers, home from the, erm, Lidl having failed only in the dogged pursuit of the elusive cranberry sauce. So, smoked salmon it is, then. Not bad.

Change in "diary" policy

She who must be adored, who assures me She is (and I quote) "a tough old boot," insists I downplay mentions of Her health. From now on, She tells me, I should only report the more major ups and downs. Accordingly, I offer instead news of a repeated BBC play tonight on BBC7 digital radio at one in the morning. It's The Doppelganger (1977) by JCW Brook and, if I remember rightly, it will scare the blue blazes out of its listeners. Monitus es. What? Me? No, no, I won't be listening. Besides, I already have a recording tucked away somewhere.

Who are you calling a scaredy-cat? You talkin' to me?