Low. Combination of prospect of Christmas again without ED and people dying. On and on they die as if I lived in a war zone, or my friendship was cursed. Today the woman who set up the facebook pages, one for MSers and another for their people, died in the street after being hit by a car, whose driver didn't stop. Man. We never know what might be coming round.

I'm going to see ED on Monday, me and YD. Taking her for a bra fitting, to get her some old lady bras as she's currently still in pre-care home ones that are cut very low and push the breasts together and up, enhancing the cleavage and making it very easy for her to get them out, which she does, frequently and kind of absent-mindedly. I think if playing with and flashing her breasts gives her pleasure, we should let her get on with it, cos who gives a shit and she HAS LITTLE ENOUGH FUCKING PLEASURE, can't we leave her alone? Apparently not.

Tomorrow I'm off to have my kidneys x-rayed. Yes, on a Sunday, despite all the bullshit that's been said about the new contracts making the NHS a seven days a week affair, it appears that it's already doing that - which we knew. So I'm depressed about ministers who tell bare-faced lies and I'm a bit scared in case they find something. I have to drink 2 pints of water an hour before, but what if I have to wait?

Knitting, in daylight, the other day. Much longer now, will be nice:



Friday's painting, still the pier, this time after the first big storm-induced collapse, before the fire:



The bones of that dome were only removed quite recently. A few years ago YD and I went down there on one of the mega-low tides and took pictures from inside it. Memorable, as the annual naked bike ride came past, cycling along the wet sand, off into the sunset. Quite surreal.

Cat, who has been very suspicious of the fire, as if she's forgotten all the previous winters of basking by the flames, finally getting in close:



I hate that fucking fireplace - Jesus, I hadn't imagined for a moment Bloke would order one that big, and square and imposing on a small room. I mean, I saw the design and reluctantly acceded to his belief that a 1950s council house is not the place for a mock-victorian fireplace (with a bit of a curve and some tiles painted with flowers), though I don't see why not, the taste police aren't going to come and sneer in our faces and blah blah moan moan.

I am grateful for: the Paris agreement, though we shall see what happens - saving the planet means changing how we live; Son down for the weekend, currently out on the razz with his mates; wheelchair van legal again, now in my name;phone working again, though I haven't used it, being full of gloom and doom, which is kind of old, coming from me - can't bring myself to call anyone, interrupting their life to blab all over them, not a teenager, etc etc, but I'm still glad it's working again; bedtime

Sleep tight