And another bloody cold! I only put the last one to bed a matter of weeks ago and everyone at work’s sniffling again – me included.
I suppose, as I get older, my body’s going to fail more and more until I achieve room-temperature. And it’s bearing up pretty well thus far.
The asthma which defined my childhood and young adulthood has pretty much cleared up. I can be around cats – even dogs – these days.
The amount of exercise I get, just walking to where I can get a bus (and walking back after I’ve finished work) is keeping me ticking over. Pretty damn well, in fact.
It’s a pretty good score to make it into my fifties, be in pretty good physical condition and still have a full head of hair (and a full head of teeth). In fact, the glasses and hearing aids are my only concession to the cyborg life.
So I’ve a lot to be grateful for, really.
Why not use your face to read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)
If Scottish literature can be thought of as an elderly, overweight gentleman with savage diarrhea, 1919 (inside) is the land-mine he just stepped on.
Do it – do it NOW – for the children, eh? think of the children.