Well, here I am again, smoking and drinking vanilla milk. I went to see a friend who has a cat refuge and who tries to home some of them. I was looking at a tabby called Sparky in case she might fit into my menagerie, but she was too timid. I was honoured to have Rosie, a tabby, sit on my lap. I came home and looked at the CP website - saw a tortie called Gracie was available, so I shall ring in the morning. Maybe I really am a mad cat woman.
My back is playing up, which is most annoying as it may prevent me from going to see a friend for a few days. At the moment, sitting for 2 hours on a train would be impossible. I've been referred for physio and have an appointment in a week's time, but until then I just have to take pills - more bloody pills.
Once again I'm the only person on the planet who's up and about, or so it feels.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?