I'm having to get myself organised. I have written a lot of emails, including one that's been hanging over me since I returned from my holiday at the end of November. It reached the stage that I was putting it off because I'd left it so long. Sometimes one needs a deadline and there wasn't one, as such.
Tomorrow, I'm going to a Spanish lesson. Not to learn Spanish, just to watch Year 10s learn Spanish. I'm quite up for joining in though. I find the whole governor lesson observation thing quite hard, I feel a bit of a lemon, but it's all right if I talk to people and ask questions and that sort of thing. I've also got to extricate myself from something I'm supposed to be doing in a fortnight's time. Reluctantly, I've decided that, as it includes walking over the entire school, it will be too much for me ten days after a major leg operation.
Wink has returned home, but will come back in two or three weekends' time to check up on me. I've never been so looked after in my life, and I've led a pampered life. Well, that is, I am faced with the prospect of all this pampering. Mind you, I found myself being prayed for in church this morning, which is a disconcerting experience, I can tell you. I knew it would be on the cards and was embarrassedly resigned to it, but I thought they would at least wait until I'd been under the knife and wasn't actually there to be startled.
A film starring Richard Burton has just started on television. I'm not going to stay and watch it - I can't take war films any more, and besides, it's late. But didn't he have a wonderful voice? And my goodness, Leo McKern too. Looking remarkably young. Young is a bit of a relative term, I don't think he ever actually looked "young". Anyway. I digress.
Not that I was actually talking about anything. Maybe this is one of those posts that isn't going anywhere.
Right. The only place I'm going is to bed. It's after half past twelve, whatever the time at the bottom of the post says, and I've hardly started on the Sunday papers yet.