Drama in the kitchen

Gym for JR, then an afternoon walk with Chrissy.

I popped round to Uncle A’s flat to pick up a few things for him - his book, his phone charger, his mail. Yes, I’m afraid he’s in hospital after a fall. Nothing too serious, but they’re keeping him in for a couple of nights to make sure. And to perhaps arrange more help for him at home, though he will resist. 

I wasn’t allowed in to the ward to see him, but I was pleased to see that the hospital car park was free. Another of the SNP’s freebies?

I didn’t bother going out with the girls in the afternoon, because it was too cold and there were ominous clouds (and I couldn’t be bothered). I made the right choice - it did rain. It was cold. So I watched a film  - Page Eight on Netflix, which was quite understated, but at least there were no murders and Bill Nighy was in it. He doesn’t really act - he’s just always Bill Nighy, but very watchable.

JR had a bit of a drama in the kitchen - she managed to set fire to herself while making a frittata for tea. She, apparently, leaned across the hob to do something, but the front gas was on low, which she didn’t see in the evening sunshine. Sleeve on fire! Whole front of (fairly new) top on fire!! She divested sharpish and so averted a bit of a tragedy. She just smells slightly singed now. Frittata was nice.