L’s war wound is apparently getting better although she has always maintains to me that she’s ‘fine’. Now she says that this time last week she felt as though she’d been stabbed with a six-inch nail but now she feels like she’s been stabbed with a small penknife. Which is presumably progress. It’s amazing what the word ‘fine’ covers isn’t it?
With no squash again, Thursdays have become a choice between a romantic night in or a romantic night out (in the pub). I suppose it’s a case of whatever gets the injured one the most exercise. We say in, the lodger is out.
In fact, Daughter has today paid the admin fee (an eye watering one, no wonder they’re trying to ban them) for one of the flat’s we looked a yesterday.
(Thursday 16th March)