Groan groan

Physically, this has not been the best of days.

First I wake up at 6 am with a blinding headache that stops me sleeping, seeing or functioning and takes six aspirins and two hours of silence to cure throughout the day. Unfortunately, today is also the day I have to drive Squirrel, Shark and Tiger to be patronised by Hitler at her crap art session. If only home were some respite. I spend the last hour of my head pain with some builders banging, crashing and hammering in the flat above me, possibly dismantling a false wall put there by the now departed Mr Git to disguise the damp when he sold the property.

After suffering that, I then failed to make the doctor's appointment for what I'm-not-telling-you, so am in pain and agony for another few days. Self-diagnosis is not usually a good thing (although it was timely in the case of the bile overdose and cholestasis), but, undeterred, I then embark on the Internet medical dictionaries to find I have either leprosy or Grave's disease, or possibly both.

By 9pm, with the headache gone, but the not-telling-you hurting, I feel the need for some fresh air so take a fifteen minute stroll to the Co-op so at least I can include this success in my Independent diet day. Unfortunately the shine is taken off the walk after two minutes because I lose my footing and fall into the gutter. If only I could get away unseen on that one; two young men come to my assistance as I am rolling about in the road unable to get up. This all makes me feel like I am at least aged 60 and eligible to be smashed out of my skull on a cocktail of osteoporosis drugs and sherry.

Well, I'm going to bed now to nurse my head, the not-telling-you, and the wounded knee from the gutter incident. And I hope during the course of the getting into bed procedure I don't somehow manage to fall down the attic stairs like before, because boy, does that one hurt the buttocks.