Looking forward to a quiet day

For the first time in what seems ages, the sun is shining. Blue skies reign over us.

I'm intending to cook salmon for us today. A bit of me thinks it would be good to go out on the Mean Machine. I've not used it for ages. Another bit of me feels no. It will be cold & I am very very tired.

Last night I fell into bed at about 6.30 pm & didn't rise until 7.30 am. I took some sleeping pills. They well & truly knocked me out. I start on the pills I take in the middle of the night tonight so this was my last opportunity to take some sleeping pills & ensure a solid sleep. Even with the muscle relaxants I'm still waking most nights about 2am with stomach pains, not as severe but nonetheless sufficient to wake me & keep me awake for several hours. Though I will admit, yesterday, for the first time since Christmas, I did get through the daytime without a single ache. Maybe the problem is passing. I'm still waiting sample results to confirm what is the cause of the problem.

Surprise, surprise, my blood pressure was high. I've got another appointment for next month.

I think what really did it for me yesterday was the Big Food Shop. It never ceases to amaze me how sometimes you end up buying, for one week, either a few expensive items, or a lot of small cheap ones. This week was the latter variety. Full of fresh fruit & veg. The lad at the till reckoned he'd passed through the cheapest item he'd ever seen - fresh ginger 2p. Well, there's not a lot of point in buying more than you need. It never seems to keep that well.

Today should be a quiet day. Apart from going off to buy some fish, there's nothing else that has to be done. We're hoping by then to have heard from the opticians so may go into Lancaster. We'll see. Or we may just have a lazy afternoon of it.

Meanwhile I'm tackling some new jigsaws the Fox bought me - a couple of Rossetti paintings. I enjoy fine art jigsaws in that, while you are examining the pieces so carefully to join them up, you find yourself gaining a greater appreciation of the artist who produced the original artwork. You discover the looseness of Monet's flicks of paint, the searing pain of Van Gogh, the incredible skill in moving from skin tone to fabric with Leonardo. Sometimes I'm struck by the use of a particular colour can sometimes give a cohesion to a painting which otherwise would be lacking. I wonder what I will discover with Rossetti.