Prostrate

Spent a long time sorting out old clothes from the wardrobe (and putting most of them out for a trip to the charity shop). The weather was pretty grim and I only stepped out of the door briefly, to find that the light had gone already. (It keeps doing that). It’s not often that the cupola is illuminated on the old bank building, though (don’t know if the Buddhists inhabit up to that level).

‘Attended’ online the funeral of a good friend down in Milton Keynes crematorium. Brad’s guitar (well, its case certainly) was on top of his coffin so was presumably consigned to the flames with him.

Became aware of a slight wobbling in the tooth that Ross had temporarily cemented back in - eventually it fell out, although I had been super careful of it. Quite ruined the fish supper that D had brought home. Shall have to try to get another emergency appointment tomorrow (otherwise you may get a selfie…). And Dave has a wee blood vessel burst in his eye.

Obh, obh; or as Bob Copper used to say “I am prostrate with dismal”.