Oh dear - up in the middle of the night and active. I've tidied the bathroom and I'm now about to sort out all my coats by the front door. The washing is hanging up over the Rayburn and I'll do some more in the morning. My kitchen is almost done, and I've wrapped up two parcels ready to send. What next? I've had to put cream on my hands again as they have become sore, but they're getting better.
Ho hum. My thoughts are running slightly fast and I don't feel sleepy. In a black bin liner are three Barbour jackets and five other coats waiting for jumble or for someone to take them. Now I only have coats that fit me!
I shall try to get some sleep now, but I don't hold out much hope.
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?