I woke to the alarm at 0830, having forgotten to turn it off. Felt quite woozy from lack of sleep, but got up anyway, and then fell asleep on the sofa. Home Treatment called to say that they're coming at 1130 today, so I've had a toasted teacake for breakfast and am waiting for them to arrive. My left hand and palm itch, but I think it means money going out, not coming in - a severe blow. Both my hands are a mess, as is my chin - I must put eumovate on them, and take a Piriton. Bloody side effects.
Spoke to my friend Jane - Angus is out of hospital, which is great news. Go Angus; get well soon.
Merrily popped in to say that she had won the hen house in the Foxy raffle and couldn't be more pleased - she's now going to keep chicken, so that will be a source of fresh eggs. The Festival is going very well, apparently. I keep seeing French people walking around the village, which is rather odd. You can tell the difference by their dress - much more elegant than us. The Foxy highlight today is a performance of Nick's oratorio in the church at 1600 - I wish I was well enough to go to it, as I've heard it and it's fantastic.
I don't know how I feel today - vaguely anxious and totally not myself. I go through the motions of conversation as though I'm watching myself from outside my body - my voice comes from outside my head, somehow. I know I sound OK, but there's a time lag between me and other people, which is most curious. I observe myself doing the right things but I've no connection with them. I think it's called depersonalisation. Whatever its name, I don't much like it.
Bernie arrives at any minute, so I'll post this and put th
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?