MY DRATTED SPUDS are almost growing faster than I can keep up with. Every day I’m having to top up with more compost. At this rate I might end up a bumper crop of potatoes but I shall be a wreck!
Anyhow, I’ve another problem, health-wise, today – my periodically recurring gippy tum. Don’t know what’s set it off this time – I promise I haven’t touched any shellfish. It’s certainly griping up badly; so far I have to use the loo about six times – I even have to dash to the gents’ toilet mid-shop at the supermarket.
Oh, the joys of growing older!
Talking of which, have you noticed how, when you’re treated as a wrinkly, you end up feeling like a wrinkly?
I’ve been sent a form to fill in for my heating allowance for next winter; I’m applying for my bus pass and I can get my prescriptions filled free of charge now.
Honestly, all these perks have made me feel a lot older than I did just a few weeks ago when I was only fifty-nine and eleven months old.
On the other hand, grumpy I’m certainly getting. Glancing at next week’s Radio Times I’m struck by the omnipresence of coverage of some footballing event – almost every channel seems to be carrying some match or other, driving out even the meagre offerings they usually show.
At times I feel I’m the only sane person in a world driven into a stew of collective madness!
Anyhow, my tum seems to have quietened down for the minute – I had a bowl of chicken soup about an hour ago, and that seems to have settled it – so I might just risk a cup tea…
Might put me into a slightly better humour.
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