... according to the copy of the letter from the consultant to my GP, at any rate. I seem to have left him with the impression that I still want to pursue the option of hip resurfacing and that my doctor should expect me to go back to him, so I've just written to the doctor (no need to take up his time with a visit) saying that's not so, that I'm happy with the advice given and thanking him for his own good advice. It's not actually necessary to write, but don't you think that we're quicker to complain than to praise? Doctors must often only hear back if things go wrong, not when they clear up or the status quo accepted.
Tilly is lying on the chair next to me. Every time I looked up, she was gazing at me. To start with, I was quite pleased at the display of affection, but after a while I realised that this is not a Tillyish thing to do. Finally, it occurred to me that my breakfast yoghurt pot was on the table. I gave it to her to lick. She's curled up facing the other way now. She was far too polite to look at it, but just hoped I'd look at her properly and read the message in her eyes. It was very subtle though, she's such a trusting little dog and assumes my mastery of Dog is complete. It is fluent, but I'm not, of course, a native Dog speaker and occasionally the nuances don't get through for a while.
Today, I've mostly been listening to music. With pleasing randomness, I started with Schumann lieder, moved on to Jimi Hendrix and then Ella Fitzgerald.
More importantly, it's not only the birthday of Dave's twin son and daughter, but also Pugsley's third birthday. We've got him a farm set. Happy birthday, darling Pugsley