Modelling some new knitwear - hope the destined recipient doesn't look at this before it gets there.
Me: Alas my love you did not marry a beauty.
Tom: Aw, you've got character.
Me: Like Peggy the boxer has character?
Tom (dreamily): I loved her!
Me: And she was told how pretty she was several times every day.
We both go into a reverie thinking about this.
And I finished a pullover, big and sloppy as usual, maybe one day I'll manage something that fits, but I've always liked big and sloppy anyway.
Now thumb-twiddling waiting to head of for Pontivy for the second of Tom's eye-gougings, administering the barrage of drops at five minute intervals. A month of worry about worsening discomfort around the first eye done, the surgeon having buggered off on holiday, was resolved on his return when he took one look at said puffy and inflamed organ and said, oh, yes, you're allergic to the anti-inflammatory drops, stop using them for the next one, they're not that important anyway. Not macular oedema then? I asked, and he gave me that a-little-learning-is-a-dangerous-thing look that doctors do and confirmed it was not.
I'm better equipped this time anyway, with two lots of knitting, the Kindle, a three day old copy of Ouest France, an apple and a packet of Nairns cheesy oatcakes (thanks G and A). Oh and a camera, by special request. Back anon.