I think that I'm depressed.
Not in the true meaning of clinical depression but just generally peed off with life, the universe and everything (thank you, Douglas Adams).
With apologies to any supporters of Donald Trump who might stumble across this blog, I think that he is one of the main causes.
I've managed into my ninth decade and am very grateful for the fact that I still have (to some degree or another) all my faculties. That despite, at the age of 15, having a disease that people still die of today. The remedy was to remove a lobe of a lung and, to this day, I'm grateful for the hospital team involved in what, 64 years ago, was quite major surgery. It was after that that I had a very brief bout of post-operative clinical depression. I used to go walking for hours and hours on end alone with my thoughts. It was very short-lived. That was 64 years ago and I've never had a hint since. I count myself exceptionally fortunate.
The other thing is that I never was an ideas person. However, I'm very good at executing practical ideas provided they are within my capabilities.
I'm very grateful for the readers of the blog who have asked if I'm okay. Thank you. I apologise (again) for the fact that I've been neglecting my blogging duties.
Have any of my other readers who may be, shall we say, not as young as they once were, found that life takes a bit longer in just about every way?
Short of something really drastic happening there will be another post this coming weekend.
