Wednesday 7th April 2021

One week with gout.

And, if anything, it's getting worse. The pain, and so, I guess, the crystals have moved from the tow joint to the bridge of my foot, to the point that even wearing a slipper on my left foot is almost impossible, and sitting for any period of time without the foot being elevated starts to get painful.

There is little choice but to wait it out, keep taking medicine or spreading the cream, and drinking lots and lots.

I have not worn a sock or slipper since Sunday, and wth no end in sight, I feel like a prisoner.

To add to the joy, I can only sleep pain-free in one position.

But I can sleep.

Each morning begins with me hoping that things will be better.

One morning that will happen. But not Wednesday.

So, the pans out as usual, after getting up, drinking coffee and getting ready for work, catching up on the mail that poured in since Tuesday lunchtime. Both of them.

The day did begin with a yellow sliver of a moon, rising due south behind the house. I take a shot.

Shot for the day done.

There was excitement this day, though. As at half eight, I get a phone call: "I'm your scaffolder, which house is yours, we're in your street"

!

So, a truck pulls up, and two cockney wideboys get out, accepting of fresh brews and only too happy to talk about football, the house and living in the country.

I can't explain the thrill of talking to new people, even a Millwall and West Ham fan.

The MIllwall fan is thinking of moving to the country, escaping his manor back in The Smoke, so I point out things of interest and what we have here, they don't have in that London: space, quiet, badgers, the white cliffs. They were impressed.

Once they had down their tea, they got down to work, and got on really well, finishing in about an hour, inbetween taking calls from new jobs to do.

So, by half ten, after a second brew, they left leving the house partially shrouded in scaffold, all ready for the roofers to come and replace the slates.

And then back to work and peace and quiet and the return of the cats as their main sleep had been disturbed by the noise and work.

I work to one, by which time I can no longer consentrate. I had made a loaf to have with lunch, dipping still warm crusts into some garlicky dip or something.

I felt like a millionaire.

I lay on the bed as the afternoon passes. It is sunny, but bloody cold. I was going nowhere even if it was twenty degrees and no wind.

I am pretty down, but try to make the most of it. I mean, what else can we do?

I make dinner; egg and breadcrumbing the last of the aubergine and cooking a shop-bought pizza, but adding extra meat, cheese and chilli flakes.

It rocked.

We share the last of the chocolate desserts with a coffee once the sun had set, and the radio played, quietly, tunes to soothe the soul.

I head to bed at ten, hoping that in the morning it would all be OK.