We're all still here, still hanging on in there. I'm a bit calmer today, but only just. So far this evening I've got into a row with some Trump supporters on a friend's facebook page about Black Lives Matter (they don't, apparently), which went on for almost two hours and when I walked away from that I got into an even stupider row on Instagram about whether you should put jam or cream on a scone first, which is one of those things that DON'T FUCKING MATTER, like that poxy 'which way should the toilet roll hang' thing that goes round every now and then, to which the only answer is if you care about this you need to get a fucking grip, bastard. As I said, I'm calmer today.

Right, pictures. Me on the beach, just out of the sea, don't know why I feel compelled to post it on the internet, but here it is:



I swam day after day until suddenly it's gone all chilly and maybe that's the lot till next summer. I hope not. I have swum in October but it's a bit making a point rather than just basking in the pleasure of it.

Yesterday me and Bloke went to London to watch this show:



which I'd bought tickets for ages ago and had almost forgotten about. I didn't really want to go in the end, but ED's father (the 'biological' as she used to call him) and her partner, the ghastly SIL, had both announced that they would visit her, so London seemed like a good plan, minimum distance and all that.

We caught the train up and decided to walk everywhere instead of getting the tube or buses. It was six miles altogether, but a lot of it was lovely, like Green Park:



and lots of fantastic historic buildings - you forget how much beauty there is about the place. We went to Chinatown for a meal before the show:



It was a good thing, to get out, somewhere different, nourishing. Baddiel was fantastic, shocking, hilarious and it felt very empowering to walk round London. Someone posted a map of the tube stations with how many minutes it would take to walk between each stop and it's nowhere near as much as you'd think. Though it does add up, six miles, for fuck's sake.

Today my girl was in her wheelchair when I arrived at the home so I took her to the beach and we sat in companionable silence, holding hands:



When we got back, we discovered that she shouldn't have been out, that sitting in the chair had re-opened her bed sore, which had just started healing, finally, and caused it to bleed, and the carer in charge was cross and I was mortified and ED didn't give a fuck, and just shrugged, glad to have been out. Later, as I sat by her bed watching X Factor with her, one of the other residents wheeled himself into her room and settled himself down by her bed, making grunty sort of responses to the auditions. After about half an hour one of the staff looked round the door and almost collapsed with relief at finding him there, it being the last place she thought she'd find him. He laughed. So it goes. I find I am comfortable now with both staff and residents, to the point of exchanging hugs with some of them. Females, not men.

I am grateful for: Bloke going to bed early so I was on my own; YD getting me some picture frames at a charity shop; a walk on the beach at sundown; a few hours off the panic; my own physical health; being part of online communities; having some banter with Stepfie, thank fucking fuck

Laters, hope you are all well, do drop in if you feel like it and say hello xxx