Making Life Difficult

One of the apps on my iPhone, Patient Access, has just refreshed. It's an app used for ordering medication from the doctor and suchlike. It's very useful.

This morning I switched my iPhone off because it had altered the order of the of app pages for some inexplicable reason. All was okay when I switched it back on until I went into the Patient Access App. It required me to sign back in. 

Fine. Nothing unusual there. Except that they have introduced two-factor authentication. That should be simple but it wasn't because it suddenly decided that I'm not who I am.  After an hour or more of time I cannot afford to waste on such things, it was sorted.

I'm fortunate enough to be computer savvy having been involved with computers since I did a computing course on my second degree when I was about 22 (l o n g  ago!). I've used and battled with computers ever since.

However, it took me well over an hour to convince the app that I am me get it all back up and running . How on earth anyone with no interest in or ability with computers copes with modern life I have no idea because everything we do these days seems to require some sort of computer input and if my experience is anything to go by it gets harder and harder each day.

Catriona

I promised that I would blog about Catriona, now preferring to be called by the trendier (in her view) name of Cat. 

Catriona (old habits die hard) and I first 'met' when she was 3 years old and living in New Zealand to where her family had emigrated. They were living on a 5 acre life-style plot in Poraiti near Napier on the East Coast of North Island. I had known Wendy and Martin since 1989 when they came to live on Lewis but moved away before the children were born.

Probably the first picture I took of Catriona was what has become one of my iconic favourites of the first visit I made in 2005.

Catriona's fourth birthday occurred during my first visit to New Zealand which was only 6 weeks long. On her birthday there was a party for her at her pre-school group to which parents (and honorary grand-parent) were invited. After the party I promised Catriona that I would be there for her for her 'graduation' from pre-school to school on her fifth birthday.

That was a promise which, unknowingly, was to change the rest of my life in so many ways.

The seasons of Scotland and New Zealand are, of course, the reverse of each other. My visits to New Zealand always included their summer. 

When I came to book the plane for my next visit to keep my promise to Catriona I decided on the outward journey date in early September. I entered the date and suddenly realised that I'd given absolutely no other thought to the visit and, in particular how long I would stay. 

Our elder son had just died on my birthday and rational thinking about anything was rather outwith my capabilities.

I do, however, recall sitting at the computer and my brain suddenly saying "Wotthehellarchiewotthehell just go for 6 months". So I entered a date 6 months from the outward trip.  Then I had to tell Wendy and Martin. 

My promise to Catriona was fulfilled and my new life was about to begin.

More about Catriona soon.

For those who are new to my blog my New Zealand life was covered in my blog A Hebridean in New Zealand (See link in sidebar).

Funerals

I've just been to an acquaintance's funeral in Canada. The deceased was the sister of one of my oldest and dearest friends. It was a rather impersonal funeral for me because only a minister and a granddaughter spoke. God was the principal subject of the service and I appreciate for many that is the whole purpose of a funeral.

When our older son died he had already specified that the Humanist service was to be a joyful celebration of his life. He organised it all before he died (of cancer) and it was a wonderful celebration of his life. No black was worn. In all honesty I remember very little of the day except that I was fine until the first song (by the Smashing Pumpkins).

Most of the funerals on the Island are impersonal traditional funerals but the last one I attended was another celebration of life (and a Salvation Army service) with the joy of the deceased's life being celebrated. It was an occasion of happy memories.

My maternal grandmother died over 50 years ago (aged 94) and she told me that under no circumstances was I to wear a black tie. I didn't and raised the ire of some of her relatives who suddenly appeared from nowhere to say their last goodbyes.

Funerals are a way of ensuring that those who remain can overcome or live with their loss and grief. They are irrelevant to the deceased personally in that that person has departed this mortal coil. 

I hope that when I go there will still be a few around who will reminisce and say reasonably pleasant things about me (I won't kid myself that they will all be nice things) and have a good catch-up with all the others who know me and who might turn up. 

Simplicity

Why is nothing ever simple? I’m tempted to say that there was a time in all our lives when things were simple relative to today and, in a way, it’s true but in many other ways that seeming simplicity wasn't as simple as we sometimes make out.

For example if your bus was cancelled or any transportation was disrupted you had no way of letting the hospital know you’d be late for your appointment or any of the similar things which were daily occurrences. Indeed I would say that communication is a huge way in which life has become simpler and yet more complex.

Another example is meeting people when you went into town. You had to make prior arrangements and if anything went awry then I, for one, can recall aborted meetings which caused considerable worry and angst at the time. Now if I go into town with someone we do our separate shopping and then say “Phone me when you’re almost done and we’ll decide the best place and time to meet.” Or if I'm meeting at a particular time a call or text message lets each other know what's happening if something goes awry.

We used to book phone calls at Christmas with our relatives in Australia and Canada. They were expensive and short. Telegrams and their international equivalent could be used in extremis but it could still be ages before you knew a relative had died. Now we can chat every day to friends and family anywhere in the world if we want using a myriad of audio visual or 'written' messenger applications.

Ordinary written conversations with relatives and friends abroad took up to 5 weeks between each letter being written and received: sometimes more. A friend at Prep School had a father at sea (he was a Chief Engineer like my son) and he often arrived home 9 months after he’d gone away and, on one occasion, arrived home before the telegram about his impending arrival. I recall that because my friend’s Mother was cross to say the least.

I mentioned at a gathering recently that I write or send at least a dozen snail mail cards and letters a week. Most of the others present neither receive not write missives sent by snail mail at all. Christmas cards on a reduced level seem to be an exception.

Obviously a book could be written on this subject and many probably have been.

Thinking about it it seems to me that the number of things where simplicity in life these days compared with my youth is absolutely colossal. 

What I can't decide is what is good and what is bad and how many things in our general life are so vastly different now.

A Wee Update

Life has been getting in the way of Blogland yet again. 

The Good Thing is that we have had five days of (mainly) sunny weather which has, about half the time, been free of the bitterly cold and strong wind that makes working outside in the garden a bit of a trial even when dressed up to the nines for the occasion.

It has meant that I have been getting up well before 7am and spending the vast amount of daylight in the garden and the polycarb doing hard labour. Well, that's the theory. When possible it's been the practice too. I would spend 12 hours a day in the garden if I could.

It has been helped by the fact that some of my social and other activities (like the gym) have had to be cancelled because I've been forbidden to drive until I've had an MRI scan to confirm that the incident that saw me ending up in hospital in the middle of the night, yet again, was labyrinthitis and not a TIA. 

Needless to say people have been very good and I've had lifts to town when needed.

I'm flying down to Glasgow this week for an MRI scan but it is looking uncertain as to whether I will get the hoped for resulting confirmation that I can drive in time to get down to Ayr for my delayed uretic stent replacement. This could mean another delay or very inconvenient travel arrangements on public transport.

C'est la vie.

I found some accidental potatoes left in the grounds when I emptied the potato grow bags from last spring/summer. 

Over the years I've shown some lovely sunrises from my kitchen window. This was yesterday's view 

One Hundred Things? You're Kidding.

I think I was in hospital when I came across an article in a paper (in hospital and on ferry journeys are just about the only times I tend to read newspapers these days) which said that decluttering guru Mary Lambert says we only need 100 items and once we cull we will be happier, calmer and more successful. The journalist writing the article said that she had spent a strange weekend counting her possessions and had over 100,000 in her one-bedroom flat. Apparently the 'average' US home has over 300,000 possessions. 

There are, of course, 'rules' to this. Clothes count as possessions (well that my 100 used up easily) but all similar essential clothes like socks, handkerchiefs, underwear etc just count as one item for each type. Crockery doesn’t count, nor does food and drink (so my collection of wines and spirits is allowed, phew) or cleaning materials, tools or bed linen. 

Lambert cheerily quips that the lighter life is addictive and you might find yourself wanting to downsize in these areas too. Lambert acknowledges that whittling everything down to 100 items is no mean feat and suggests tackling it over a period of seven months. Seven months! Seven years perhaps. After all it's taken me 7 decades to acquire this much.

I have no intention of counting my possessions but having done a quick tally of things viewable just in my living room I can say that having 1200 CDs and coming up to 1000 books doesn't augur well for my total being under 100,000 in the whole house. I have several hundred thousand photographs. Do they count?

I'm sure that decluttering is a worthy objective and I suspect most of us have been or are aiming somewhere along those lines. 

In reality I wonder how many things we can live with. At my age one could try moving into one-bedroom sheltered accommodation to find out. 

Without that sort of incentive, though the real question is how many things we are willing to get rid of.

Now

On 30 September YP wrote a post entitled 'Now'. I thought about it then and I've been thinking about it on and off since then. YP posed the question "Why should we live with one foot in yesterday and the other foot in tomorrow?" He ended up saying "Grasp 'Now' while it is happening because there will never be another day quite like this one." 

Then I started thinking about the millions for whom today is the same as yesterday was and the same as tomorrow will be. For whatever reason (for example loneliness, health or poverty) there are many for whom there has always been a past but for whom the future may offer no hope of anything different and for whom that permanent 'Now' is far from a pleasant one. 

I have posted (several times) on the poem by W H Davies entitled Leisure which starts "What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?"

Basically I think that is what is at the nub of what YP was saying.

All of us have a past which, to some extent and in some way, conditions us. We cannot ignore that past. 

Most of us have a future. How long it will be is usually unknown although the older we are then as a general rule the shorter our life expectation. How long we may hope and expect it to be will vary enormously.

When we are 16 to 18 then the last thing on our mind is likely to be our old age. However the future in terms of a career and all that flows from that is likely to be a consideration.  Some of the time. At that age, however, a lot of leisure time is spent in The Now but the rest of the time (school, university etc) is spent investing in the future.

At 75 we have almost reached old age. Our working life is like to be behind us. Our health will likely be less robust than it has been and we will probably have less energy and strength than at our peak. We will have far more of a past life and memories so we will live in the past to some extent. I think that is inevitable. In reality we are likely to be thinking about our future as well. Will we be able to drive for much longer? Is our home suitable for our impending old age? Should I plan for the possibility of dementia or infirmity.

I, like YP, am very fortunate to have an adequate income, all my faculties, lots of friends, family on the Island and superb health care which keeps my body serving me well.

However, whist I am out on this wonderful, cold and sunny morning for my walk in the woods I will be enjoying The Now whilst definitely thinking of the fact that in a short while I will be meeting an old friend for coffee in the warmth.

And that is, I would like to think, an allegory for life in general.

Or am I guilty of complacency as considered in YP's subsequent post bearing that title.

My Last Few Days

Actually I'm rather hoping that they were not my last few days. I've got a lot more I want to achieve in life. In a recent post Kate mentioned both Lucy Ashton singing "Easy live and quiet die" in Room With A View. It is in fact from Sir Walter Scott's The Bride of Lammermoor.

Look not thou on beauty’s charming,
Sit thou still when kings are arming,
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,
Speak not when the people listens,
Stop thine ear against the singer,
From the red gold keep thy finger;
Vacant heart and hand and eye,
Easy live and quiet die.

Kate also mentioned Dylan Thomas's Do not go gentle into that good night.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I have to say that if I interpret Dylan Thomas's poem correctly then he feels that I should be less than pleased if the last few days were, in fact, my very last. In fact I hope that when my end finally comes (which I'm hoping will not be for a good while yet) I shall be able to say that I have had a Good Life and, latterly, an "easy life" in the poetical sense and that I shall be able to "quietly die". 

However that was not what my post was supposed to be about. Never mind. I won't test your patience with any more in this post. Perhaps tomorrow....or the day after.

I did wonder, however, whom amongst my friends and acquaintances would rage and whom would quietly die.

The Sun Doth Shine

Who would believe that this was taken one hour before midnight yesterday from my conservatory? Yesterday Stornoway was the sunniest place in the UK with 12.5 hours of sunshine. Having said that it was also very cold with a bitter northerly wind making going outside less than a joy. 

My internet hasn't been too bad although the engineer told me that 'when' not 'if' it goes again then that's it until the new cable is laid because I'm occupying the last working line within the cable. Memo to self - ring BT for update.

Once I'd been discharged from hospital it took a few days to get back up to speed but I'm back with all cylinders working now (I hope). So I have managed to read some of your blogs and hopefully I'll be back to commenting properly soon. Frances Garrood one remarked that there were few things as irritating as retired people saying that they were so busy that they had no idea how they ever managed to fit in work as well. Well I've been retired a good few years now and I marvel at people like YP and Cro who manage to blog every day. I think my mind must work too slowly or, perhaps, I just don't have enough of interest to share with the world.

More soon.

Easter Sunday, Materialism and Transience

I'm going out to friends for dinner. I'm being collected and brought home so that I can have a glass of wine. I've drunk almost no wine since the first of my current series of hospitalisations in September last year. It's been the longest period for many many years that I've gone for 7 months and been so abstemious. I used to do my best to keep to the 21 units a  week which was the recommended guideline for men. Since I was told at my last well-man MOT that the limit for men over 65 is now 14, I have hardly reached 14 units in a month never mind a week. The fact that it was just before my first hospitalisation in September is, I'm sure, a coincidence.

Anyway by 5pm I decided that all the chores that I am doing today were finished. I sat down in the lounge with the sun shining in and a book on my knee. When did I last do that? I can't remember.

The new, wonderfully fresh, recording of Brahms' Symphonies with Robin Ticciati conducting the Scottish Chamber Orchestra (which I go to see in Glasgow as often as possible) is playing on my Italian 'Opera' speakers and has stopped me concentrating on the book.

I have been looking around the room. In this room and through the open doors of two other rooms. I can see the paintings hanging on the walls and the various other works of art sitting on shelves. I can see an entire wall taken up with books (many of which are available on my Kindle if I wished to save space). There is a 'bookcase' filled with over a thousand CDs (now largely obsolete because of streamed music).

They are simply material possessions. Transient. But in a way they define a part of who I am.

All of a sudden I burst into tears.*  All this might not have been. All this will not always be. 

If I were YP I'd write a poem. Unfortunately I think the last poem I wrote was over 40 years ago.

So prose will have to suffice.


* That's one of the potential side effects of prostate cancer treatments.

Thankful Thursday....'I am!'.

I was chatting to a dear friend in New Zealand this morning. We were talking, amongst many other things about being alive. She made the point that we are so astonishingly lucky to get a life. "How," she asked rhetorically, "do a bunch of molecules come together...against all the rules of entropy? And call themselves ‘I Am’?"

She keeps a book in which she writes down things for which she is grateful. Tonight she will write ‘I am glad that today I am still alive’.

Over breakfast I kept thinking about that and how I, and probably most of the society in which I live, take for life granted. In fact we take so much for granted. 

Of course my friend was talking on a much higher level about life itself rather than 'our lives'. 

On the 'our lives' level though a very large percentage of the world's population can't take life for granted at all even at the most basic level. We have become aware of that because of television and, ironically, have also become inured to to it. A million or so Rohingya Muslims added to the millions of other war-torn and starving nations hardly makes us even bat an eyelid. Shame on us.

It made me feel very sheepish about feeling irritated that I have had this stinking cold that has kept me from seeing my new Grandchild and about the water in my oil tank that had caused my central heating to fail and the boiler to need new parts. My cold will get better and Bob has just repaired the boiler and my heating is working again. I have my health and I have the money to pay Bob's bill. 

Today I am very thankful for my life (at every level) and for the lives of my friends too.

So

Every answer to a question by a journalist on television these days seems to start with "So..." Am I the only one who finds that intensely irritating.

And whist I'm on the subject of irritating things can anyone explain the rational behind the practice that seems to have developed in the UK (I have no idea whether other countries/cultures also have the practice) of clapping oneself in a situation where one would usually expect other people to do the clapping.

Working: And Enjoying It

It's a beautiful morning - again. We've had a few recently but I've not been able to take full advantage because I've been working at the house that my son is building 15 miles away. It's in the very final stages and he's hoping to have it almost ready for the cleaners to be called in during February so that the carpets can be laid and it can be called home. Even the groundworks outside are taking shape. 

It's a long time since I worked an 'organised' six-day week and I am thoroughly enjoying doing physical labour (even though a lot of it cannot be called strenuous). However Gaz said the other day "I'm looking forward to the day when we can retire Dad." [Just from doing the house full-time you understand]. I echoed the sentiment. Gaz returns to his ship in about 10 days so we are having a final push. Having said that we are off to Inverness on the early ferry tomorrow morning to get things for the house and have a one-night mini-break.

When Gaz goes back to his ship I'm off gallivanting to Glasgow again.

I'm telling you this just so that you know that I haven't abandoned Blogland and I'll hopefully be back writing and commenting soon. In the meantime I'm still reading blogs when I can.

In the meantime I'm trying not to get depressed by the most unusual happenings in world affairs.

It looks like spring is on the way but this is Scotland and anything could happen in the next few months (and it probably will).

2017 So Far

It's 14 days since I posted on my Blog.  I think (though I could be wrong) that is may be the longest time since I started blogging  that I haven't posted on this or my New Zealand Blog. I haven't run out of topics nor have I run out of photos (although I haven't taken many for a while). I just seem to have succumbed to a mental greyness which is rather like the weather here when it's not blowing a gale or storm force winds.

In the days before my New Zealand life started I just hunkered down in the winter and did winter things. The long nights and 6 hours of daylight didn't put me up or down. Then came nearly a decade with no winter. Last year I had a 6 week break in New Zealand just about now to look forward to and that glorious 6 weeks and a Lewis summer kept me going....until a few weeks ago. Then my current house projects completed and Christmas dinner over (the first one I had ever cooked) and a break from working at Gaz and Carol's house have seen my mind slip into a sort of grey area longing for New Zealand, the sun and croquet. It's not that I haven't got lots of things to do. I have. Being physically active isn't a problem. However I'm finding being mentally active very hard.

I wrote a New Year post only to find that I wrote the same post last year. I couldn't believe it. What amused me, though, was that two of my regular readers (you know who you are) would immediately have remembered my previous post even though I hadn't.

For a lot of reasons I am not contemplating a New Zealand trip this year. That makes me very sad so I try not to think about it.

On the plus side I have been writing far more letters and cards and planning my next couple of projects. Before too long I shall be making another trip to the City where it is possible to ride the Clockwork Orange (although I rarely do), meet up with friends and enjoy the Scottish Symphony Orchestra. Perhaps when I return I shall be more alive and ready for Spring.

Thankful Thursday: Work

Okay it's no longer Thursday and I don't work (for a living) any more. However I thought of this post yesterday (which was Thursday when I started this post) and was working (though not for a living) all week at my son and daughter-in-law's house to be (which is now almost ready for habitation) together with my son and various tradesmen. 

One of the things about working with other people is that BBC Radio 2 seems to be the default acceptable radio programme of choice (for non-UK residents Radio 2 is a popular light mixture of music and chat). One of the presenters is Jeremy Vine. So far as I can gather he indulges in a sort of pop journalism. Until last Thursday the words he had uttered had passed over or through my head without any of them stopping. On Thursday the subject of internet availability arose and my ears pricked up. The Government is to pump another couple of hundred million £s into making fast broadband available in remoter areas. Apparently I now have what BT regards as superfast broadband (If I'm lucky I have 2.5MbPS which is half of what I learned Netflix regards as needed for to watch a movie) so this is a subject close to my heart. 

And then the words that will forever lead to me holding the aforementioned Mr Vine in contempt. Paraphrased "If you live in a remote area why would you want or should you have broadband internet anyway. I thought the whole reason for living in a remote area was to get away from such things." Now I am realistic enough to know that he was being deliberately provocative but he carried on espousing that line of thought until I eventually went to work out of earshot. 

Then it occurred to me that there are probably millions of people in Watford who now believe that philosophy and will vote for independence from the Remote Areas thus ridding themselves of expensive members of the population who are such a drain on their taxes. Mind you we'd probably end up in the urban areas taking their jobs.

Happy Christmas.

A Fiver For Your Principles

As some of you may know I am by inclination although not in practice a vegetarian. 

As some of you may know the new Bank of England £5 note contains minute traces of tallow which is an animal product.

It now appears that a café in Cambridge is refusing to accept the notes because they will not have animal products in their establishment. ( http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-cambridgeshire-38184599 )

Presumably, therefore, they will refuse to serve anyone wearing leather shoes, silk underwear or woolly jumpers.

How fortunate are we to have such first world problems to worry about?

If You Lived on Lewis in the '70s

then you had to remember that everyone knew you and your business. As a friend said when we arrived in the '70s "People here know that you have passed wind before you have eaten the beans." Incomers were relatively unusual. It was a very small world.

How things have changed. Now many people don't even know their neighbours because there is a chance that their neighbour has little or no island connection or history.

When I came to the Island the furniture removal van arrived in Stornoway several months later on a Communion Thursday (and that's another story). On the Friday morning they went into Roddy Smiths (a newsagent and more in Stornoway) and asked where 22a Coll was and were astonished when the people immediately knew for whom they were looking.

One day in the early '90s I had to go to London with a female senior colleague who, at the time, had an aversion to both London and hotels. I thought that I would solve the problem by suggesting that we stayed at a London Club of which I had reciprocal membership. The Club had a 'Ladies Wing' which gave ladies privacy and 'security'. I rang the Club to arrange the accommodation. I gave my name and as I was giving my address as 22a Coll the receptionist said  "on the Isle of Lewis?". Having confirmed that it was indeed that Coll the receptionist then continued to tell me that she was from Barvas on the Island. 

I realised (as if I hadn't realised before) just how small the world was if you came from a Hebridean island. I was rather pleased that I'd not been having an affair and had tried to book a double room!

Stuff

Outside the Oxfam Shop in Heswall (and doubtless in many other places) there is a sandwich board which carries various messages with the aim of getting readers to part with their belongings to Oxfam.

It seemed to me a very strange message. ‘Free yourself of stuff’ is a wonderful, liberating, concept and one people of my age in particular both aspire to and do. However it does rather conflict with Oxfam’s desire to offload that same stuff onto someone else!

Thankful Thursday: A New Month

This morning is the 867th new month in my life. It's not a very significant number in itself but it's one helluva lot more than many people are fortunate to have. In fact if it hadn't been for the British National Health Service I almost certainly wouldn't have had 667 of those months. For the NHS I am thankful.

When one wakes up to a morning like this one can be nothing but thankful.

I complain about the dire weather we sometimes have here in the Outer Hebrides but in reality it's not that bad, particularly compared with the weather many people have with drought and storms at opposite ends of the spectrum.

In weather parlance today is the first day of Autumn. My garden has suffered this year from unusual summer gales but the geranium Roxanne has been prolific from Spring and is still going strong:

So whilst I may find it hard sometimes to be thankful for our weather I am thankful that it allows me to have a wonderful garden.

Right. New carpets are due to be laid tomorrow so I had better stop enjoying myself blogging and get back to work on the house: my home. For which, I have to say, I am very thankful.

A Bowl of Cherries

It's a blog for heavens sake. How can one have writers' block (or is it writer's block?). The strange thing is that I have so many notes about blogs to be written that it's almost a daunting task just reading through them all. Anyway after a very busy two weeks where reading posts took precedence over writing one I'm on the ferry travelling south with no excuse to get up and do something else.

You know how the saying goes - people don’t remember what you say or do, but how you make them feel.

So why do organisations not realise that their reception staff are such an important part of their organisation and that their interface with the public should receive far more attention than it obviously does. I say this because I sometimes think that the criteria adopted these days is to find a person who can 'protect' the organisation from its customers, patients or clients rather than facilitate the interaction.

I am by nature a happy, positive person and I approach reception staff with that attitude. I went to medical practice recently where the reception staff are invariably very busy with phone calls and patients waiting to speak to them but are, in my experience, always pleasant and helpful. However on this occasion there was a fairly new member of staff who looked up from the telephone call she had just taken and with a broad and genuine smile dealt with my requests. It made my day.

I then had a hospital appointment and again received a cheerful welcome and some banter with the reception staff and nurses and was out from the (again very cheerful) consultant 5 minutes before my appointment was due.

To complete my medical trilogy I went across the car park to the dental practice where one of the staff was completely the opposite. It's true that what she had to tell me didn't exactly please me but it was the dismissive and rude way she dealt with me that irked. She denied vehemently that she had been rude so I will reduce the charge to cheeky with scant regard for the fact that she was speaking to someone over three times her age.

Basically it turned my day from being perfect (and it was still only 0945) to being decidedly imperfect.

So I decided to treat myself to a bacon roll at the Woodlands. There I was met by another happy smile and was asked if I wanted my 'usual large black".  I retired to my crossword with the feeling that a modicum of well-being was restored.

Have a nice day. Or as someone in the US apparently now says "Have the day you deserve". Ah. Perhaps that was the problem.

As Ethel Merman and then Rudy Vallee sang (and Lew Brown wrote back in 1931)

People are queer, they're always crowing, scrambling and rushing about; 

Why don't they stop someday, address themselves this way? 

Why are we here? Where are we going? It's time that we found out. 

We're not here to stay; we're on a short holiday. 

Life is just a bowl of cherries. 

Don't take it serious; life's so mysterious. 

You work, you save, you worry so, 

But you can't take your dough when you go, go, go. 

So keep repeating it's the berries, 

The strongest oak must fall, 

The sweet things in life, to you were just loaned 

So how can you lose what you've never owned? 

Life is just a bowl of cherries, 

So live and laugh at it all.