The truth is...

...today might just as well have been cancelled. The weather was pants and so were my spirits, still coughing for Britain and just feeling generally damn low. I resigned myself to staying in all day and having a good wallow, but as often happens things occur to lighten things a little. On this occasion I got a call from Janet, one of the Neurosupport volunteers, who has saved me two tickets for the Empire on Monday night. While still talking to her the doorbell was rung insistently, and thinking it was the postman (who's used to seeing me wearing all sorts of old tat) I rushed to answer it. Top tip: to rapidly repel Jehovah's Witnesses just answer the door in fleecy leopard-print PJs with a crucial button missing while talking loudly into a mobile phone. Their faces brightened up the morning. I'm no stranger to embarrassment this week, having walked a mile to the dentist's with the back of my skirt caught in my knickers. A kind lady pointed it out when I was nearly there, unlike the other dozen or so passers-by and two bus queues, not to mention the heavy traffic on the road. Ah well, I hope no-one was scarred for life.