Tuesday 24th October 2017

Mum is still unwell. The septicemia is barely under control, and she is to have a line plumbed back into her body for the easier administration of antibiotics. On top of that the wound in her leg that they took one of the veins out of, has started to bleed, meaning another minor operation. On top of that, I rarely get the chance to speak with Mum, just a medical update, or sometimes a yeah, she's ok, from the duty nurse. To say it is frustrating is an understatement.

On top of this, my bad back means the chances of me being able to drive four hours each way up there, or even travel in a car is slim. In which case Jools might go up on her own on Friday afternoon, coming back sometime on Saturday, while I stay home to cat sit and let my back recover.

The final decision on this and other matters to be made by Thursday.

As it is, not much other to report on a very dull and dreary day at Chez Jelltex. More work. More cuppas. More cats. More the usual stuff. And lots of meetings, including a four hour one in the afternoon. One hope all this nonsense improves things, but then I'm not holding my breath.

Get up, groan as in the first ten minutes I go from being pain free to being only able to shuffle round the house. There is coffee and drugs waiting for me downstairs. Which is good.

And as usual the plan for the day's work was soon in tatters as there is the start of the firefighting to do, making calls and the such before the marathon meeting began.

Middle of the afternoon I pop jacket potatoes in the oven, hopefully the three hours I allowed would result in being crispier than a crispy thing. With That the only preparation needed, I could concentrate on not falling asleep as the meeting continued.

Tuesday was the League Cup, or whatever its called now. Or who the sponsor is. I won't name the sponsor here, as I have no idea what they even do, which should eb the point in sponsoring it. If you told me they made tupperware coffins, I would believe you, probably more useful that what they do actually do. Instead, I prefer to think arctic mammals have clubbed together to sponsor it instead. Whatever.

Norwich were the lowest ranked club left in, and we were rewarded with a trip to the Arse, and we nearly won. Nearly. 1-0 until the 87th minute, and two clear penalties denied, a red card not shown, Arse scramble in an equaliser from a corner, and in extra time do the same again to win. BAH!