Today I move from secrecy to Britten.
So, Rise, Sit, breakfast, diary, sort, vaguely in that order.
Then I go to the doctor to hear the results of the blood tests i had before Los Molinos. I am feeling a lot fitter, and so am a little guilty about putting them to all that trouble – the tests covered a number of things and I don’t appear to have any of them. Apart from diabetes, she doesn’t mention what these things are. It would be quite comforting in today’s world, to know precisely what one didn’t have. One of the tests is described as “a little high” (normal is 1-15, I scored 25. Medical understatement, eh?), but since that is a test that measures inflammation, and I went with an infection, the result is hardly surprising. She recommends another blood test, which I book while I’m downstairs. Perhaps if I get used to the needle routine I’ll donate on a more regular basis. It will give me the opportunity to quote from my extensive range of Anthony Aloysius St. John Hancock material, which I’m sure the nurses will not have had before and which will brighten them greatly.
A pint? That’s nearly…
So I get stuck into Britten, or at least converting the .rtf files to formatted .txt files via HTML and BBEdit. Oh, yes.
Then I call Sara to try to get it all co ordinated.
It all goes awry somewhere in the middle, but not distressingly so, I simply get distracted by something I promised to do for Sara (a poster for a concert she’s giving) and by following up the Secret Project from yesterday.
A phone call from Joe Quillin means that I am committed to a (counts on fingers) sixth band, if I include the as-yet-not-properly-constituted Glyn band and myself. And I do. This will, apparantly, rock.
I also book an appointment for the optician and dentist, which is a dual coup for me. This is despite the fact that the organisation involved announce on their website that they offer “complimentary medicine”. This is not, as such, the correct term. I have felt for a long time (and the fact that the joke is old and tired will not stop me from repeating it. I’m reliable that way) that complimentary medicine would be a pill with “You’re Looking Good!” written on it.
More of this and I may soon be able to pass for human. In a darkened room. With the light behind me.
There’s also washing and ironing, but you don’t want to hear about that. Or rather I don’t have anything to say about it that passes even my rather lax standards for interest.
In the evening I watch Donnie Darko again and then go to bed. I ought to have been out watching Mr Artingstall and his Tea Dance Band, but three nights out on the trot would have finished me. For I am old and sad.