Good national bin day afternoon ladies and gentlemen and those who breath, but not politicians and those who decide on what depressing items that make it into the media, blunt and to the point, now that’s enough of that.
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Blood sugars this morning were a head scratching 4.8, causing a 15 minute calculation frenzy to establish my insulin dosage, it is time to admit I ended up guessing, my steam driven sliderule cooled down ticking nicely, I had to drink the tea in the mug for the tea bag reading, ah such is life.
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Now I must confess me, me’s and myself got stitched big time yesterday by an expert, Mrs J, I have to admire the skill with which Mrs J did it, not like, admire.
Firstly Mrs J trimmed my beard, not a pleasant experience, Mrs J mutters about attacking my hair, but didn’t attack my hair lulling me into a false sense of security, then she drove into the grand metropolis of Reading for my plinky plonky lesson, with the promise of being picked at the usual place. Never has Brahms been played so badly perhaps I should have been Liszt.
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Now here comes sting upon being picked up, Mrs J said we will make a minor detour on the way home, yep you guessed, the dreaded garden centre, I was deposited in the café told to buy my own koffy and be quiet or I would be walking home with sore appendages, Mrs J being of Welsh and Irish extraction is no stranger to using her fists and or feet hence I sat quietly crying into my koffy, cursing those dreaded words all those years ago. “I do”.
Stay safe all.
