I went yesterday for a scan to check that the bits that were shoved in my belly some five years ago were still keeping me alive. Here you wait and collect the pics and take them along to discuss with the consultant. A very, very bad idea is to glance at the images yourself even if you had been concentrating while watching Gray’s Anatomy & House. After doing so I refused to consider checking with Google. Instead I have put them away and hope to survive until I see the Great Man.
Village improvements continue apace. The church illuminations have been upped to the pic. I’m also told that you can point your smart phone at it and its history and that of the commune will pop up. My own unsmart phone is a dozen years old and is greeted with incredulous derision by anyone who sees me use it. Obviously the modern world is passing me by although it’s impossible to avoid Trump, Brexit etc.
I’ve just cut the grass for the fourth time this year. An added pressure is to get it done by midday since the law states that no noise should be heard in the village during the sacred two hours set aside for lunch. I was three minutes over but the grandson opposite was out and he’s the only one who would complain. He is the person at whom the bylaw is aimed to curtail his use of his ludicrously noisy machinery. But it means that everyone else must shut shop to show that the rule applies to us all.

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