Down town ...

I'll begin with the news you've all been waiting for ... there was no snoring last night! In fact I slept a full 8 hours for the first time in ages before I woke feeling pretty grim - flu-type aches and pains, as well as two hot swollen arms. Interestingly (to me anyway) the flu jag swelling is far worse than the covid one, and has a big red blob all round it. However, we both found that a couple of paracetamol banished the symptoms for an acceptable length of time, especially when accompanied by a strong coffee.

Thus fortified, I went out to buy flour this morning and found Hillfoot Street (blipped) looking positively cheerful. I don't know if it was the presence of other people pottering in and out of the small shops there, or the renewed flags on their poles, or the rather nice sky, but it was certainly much better than on recent occasions, even when I was staggering home with a rucksack carrying 3.5 kilos of flour and a string bag of extra things (cans of chickpeas and bags of nuts, since you ask ...)

After lunch I found myself drifting off to sleep and in a moment of madness roused myself to go and wash the bathroom floor, asking myself - not for the first time - what malevolent spirit caused me to think all these years ago that fake mosaic tiles would be a good idea. All these little grooves between the "tiles" are the very devil to clean, and the result of leaving them and simply mopping over the surface is rather too antique for my liking. So I was on my knees with the scrubbing brush and an e-cloth until the knees protested; then it was the bending at the waist facilitated by all the Pilates ...

A short, brisk walk before dinner finished the self-flagellation and I've spent a drugged evening over the telly, with more drugs to come tonight.

Blipping an extra of the progress of my friend's big painting that she started last week  - she's so bold!