Give me pills

This is not time for my iron levels to drop (or whatever). At my age I don't need to go to the quack to be referred to the clinic to have blood drawn and analysed to know that I've once again become border-line anaemic. Have no idea why. I suppose I should eat more spinnach or something.

So among other errands today, a trip to the pharmacy to pick up some iron tablets. Next week I'm doing four days of 11 hour shifts followed by a day of physical hard work at the charity shop on Friday.

The Fat Bastard has been in a deeply peculiar mood for the last couple of days, morose in a very distinctive and highly unusual (for him) way.

I have a theory about this which I'm going to turn over in my mind over the next few hours, and if I have the energy I'll put it up her for consideration later after I return from today's 9 hour shift.

Somehow though I think it isn't linked to the protracted sale of his mother's house (from which he stands to collect a small windfall - on which he's been banking for quite some time now). Recent prospective buyers withdrew the day they were supposed to put down the deposit, so she's back to viewings and no serious prospects.