Wednesday Christmas Eve: Made my legs do a lot of walking yesterday pm and again into Rustington today: punishment for eating fatty and yeasty foods, and drinking stuff I would normally never touch.
On the way down, R stopped and offered a lift, which I accepted for half a mile, then detoured into the medical centre to ask about the blood test. Apparently, they only contact you if there is something wrong. Fair enough. But it would have been better to actually tell us that at the time. All the nurse said was the doctor would get in touch after the test.
The sharp pains, which I had seen them about in the first place, do still return, but doctors today seem to be more concerned with bureaucracy and financial reward, so I don’t think I’ll bother returning.
Meanwhile: the A females I saw at Sister Clement’s funeral seem to be ageing in reverse. The sole brother seems to be taking the age hit for them (just kidding G). No consolation whatsoever, especially since the allergic dermatitis made me look older anyway.
As funerals go, it was not at all solemn, and suited Sister Clement’s character. My own preference is for a service that forces us to look within, which this one did not. So, when a NandD asked if I would have a Roman Catholic funeral service, I replied ‘not like that one’.
Bad planning on the part of the organisers meant we had Mass and were then invited into the hall for refreshments. No sooner had I sat down to partake, when they announced that those who wished should head off to the cemetery for the interment. As that meant moving the car and also missing the Old Girls who could not stay, I went later on my own to say the De Profundis for her.
There are still more mountains to climb career-wise: one Old Girl asked me what I did. When I replied, she asked how I made my living, ie made any money. Being a writer and artist are viewed by many as just hobbies, and not bill paying careers. Must have a prompting nag at the Almighty. I am deeply thankful that money keeps turning up, but the art, books and writings have to start paying back extra now.
On the plus side, being a freelancer, I am my own boss. So I decided to have a long sleep as it’s Christmas Eve…. and managed to wake up thinking it was Saturday. When I called in to the newsagent, it took a full five seconds, as I wondered why there was no Weekend magazine, and why was there only a Wednesday edition of the Mail, before the penny dropped! Sigh.
Euphrosene Labon Mind Body Spirit Artist Author Writer
Tuesday 23: Black mark to Sainsbury. After a curate’s egg of a day, I detoured to pick up some food and finally sat down to some coffee and peanut cookies. Yeurk! 
Monday 22: It’s beyond me how some cartoonists and artists use tablets. My efforts look as if I am writing or drawing with my left foot. 
