Last week it was unpleasantly cold. In the space of two nights it changed to uncomfortably warm. This may be a sign about my lack of adaptability rather than global warming, but this a diary and I can only write what fate flings my way.

This morning I was wrenched from sleep by my alarm as it’s one of the days when I take Julia to work. The news was tedious. Traffic was dense. I suspect this might be because they are starting work on replacing part of a bridge over the Ring Road. It is going to take a year. This sort of thing always seems to have a knock-on effect as people look for different routes, even though it doesn’t seem that close to us. If I were still working it would be a nuisance as it was on my route between Julia’s work and the shop. I was actually in the queue that formed when the original damage occurred. An excavator on a low loader (which clearly wasn’t low enough) hit the bridge and then fell into the road. I hope the company responsible is paying for the work. I also hope that the contractors display the phone number and email address of the offending company next to the queues of traffic as they carry out the work.

That meant I arrived home with too much time to go straight for my blood test and too little time to do anything useful.

The blood test went OK and I came home. I used the scales while I was there, and though I haven’t lost more, I haven’t put any on. This is good.

Currently I’m typing and drinking tea as I decide what sort of soup to make. I can do broccoli because, guess what, I have broccoli that needs using up. Or I could make some variation of tomato and red peppers because I’m now building up a lot of peppers. I think the broccoli wins, because I have stalks too, and it always seems more virtuous to use them rather than compost them.

And finally, Princess Anne, who sustained head injuries from a horse a couple of days ago could have a  “serious” problem according to one internet headline. However, in keeping with the low standards of journalism you expect from the internet the diagnosis of “serious” comes from a “royal biographer” rather than a doctor. Enough said. She’s never done me any harm, so I wish her well.

Traffic