Inversmashie panorama on a dull day

It's been an unwonderful day to end an unwonderful week. Bent out of shape by society's pliers, as Bob Dylan so poetically put it. My publishing set-up guy choosing to differ with me; my GP saying I will need an iron check, and maybe injections. (Ridiculous, I eat three padlocks a week.) Now the hospital telling me that I need hormone treatment. With that the facade of 'choosing your own treatment' is gone. Now, it's We are telling you. This letter will be copied to the head guru . On the upside the country's leading mail order protagonist has sent me a new set of scales. Life isn't all bad.