Up at the crack of dawn to take Clare into Llandough Hospital for her shoulder repair operation. It was pouring with rain, utterly horrid. We were only there long enough to check in and for Clare to meet the anaesthetist. He didn't like the look of her sore throat, and sent her home. She's had misgivings about the desirability of the op over the past few months that she's been having physiotherapy and resuming regular swimming and gym sessions. Apprehension turned to relief. She'll be given another surgery date sooner or later, but with the passage of time, already ten and a half months, the success of the operation is increasingly less certain. So she'll probably say no when the time comes, after all.
After breakfast, she went back to her jewellery making with enthusiasm, and then to the gym. I had my second funeral of the week mid-morning, a straight visit to the Vale Crematorium, for a small group of mourners, none of whom said Amen to any of the prayers. It was a bit like being back in protestant Switzerland. After lunch, back at home, I went to bed and slept sweetly for an hour, rather than fight the lingering fatigue of such early rising. Then, fresh as a daisy, I went to the office for the afternoon, with more crime database entries to record, and Board admin to complete. Almost every evening now I spend more time writing than I do watching telly. It's far more satisfactory when there's little showing that I am seriously keen to watch.
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