...or at least I think I have. I reported 87 MRI scans today. The system roared back into life with a vengeance. Good job I was feeling better. No chance to prevaricate about anything. Troy decided that this was a great time to find my lost touch. I've just read that back, I mean my errant iPod Touch. I know we've been married a whole week - nearly, but things aren't yet that bad. I hope. By the time he had finished rummaging, we had loads more space in the cupboards. But the living room was full of crap. Old dog paraphernalia, ski wear, ten foot high piles of medical negligence paperwork, piles of software, random chargers, - the lot. Oly looked a sweetie in his baseball cap, and size zero Reg chillaxed in her lime green Ralph Lauren polo T. I am sure you think I am joking, let me assure you, that I am not.
So the day was spent in front of the computer bank, reporting, reporting, reporting. If only Norris McWhirter could have seen me. A little respite was to be had in the evening. While Murray blew his Gasquet, letting Nadal trample all over him, I went out to supper with Anna. We saw her husband at Wembley recently, sporting a bizarre cowboy hat. Mind you, if you're going to have a mid-life crisis, here are the options - buy a Harley and shag a twenty year old, or wear a hilarious hat. I know which I'd rather have my husband hanker after...
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