I spent last week at the caravan in Pembrokeshire where, of course, there is only the occasional brief internet connection. I'll visit once more, later this month, then hand over the keys to Henry. He will sell the caravan on my behalf and relet the site, it will be up to the new people to buy a caravan.
Between now and then, the son of friends will visit for a week or so, he called in for the key this evening.
All the family came over yesterday for a bank holiday barbecue, which was excellent. A lot better than the previous few days. I'd had to have a tooth out on Thursday - nothing wrong with it, but the infection in the bone wasn't going to go away. Having rested on Friday, a modest visit to an antiques fair on Saturday afternoon seemed reasonable, but I fainted on the way out, persuaded the emergency services person that I didn't need an ambulance, phoned Al who came to pick me up, accompanied by Dilly, so that he could drive my car home and she drive Wink.
There are too many humiliations in being old/unwell and I don't appreciate it. I'm really pissed off. I feel fine until I don't. But 35ish migraines in two thirds of a year, when I normally would only have about 2 isn't great and I hope they will find out what's wrong and put it right. Or possibly give me a crappy prognosis, in which case I'll at least know how I stand; or lie down in a public place because I can't reliably sit up.
It's my own fault. I should have lain flat the moment I felt faint, rather than thinking I could get back to the car.
Anyway. Wink has been invited to a wedding on the Isle of Bute in early December and is looking forward to it very much. More on that next time.
