Plump

I was just getting geared up for a good sulk [why is my stomach still hurting, and have I got a temperature, and the garden centre won't cross the threshold to deliver my logs "Health & Safety, we're not insured", well bloody get insured, and I missed a special delivery and I'm not well enough to drive to the sorting office and..] when dear Pp (go on, applaud me Pp for that stupendously imaginative crowning leap) phoned.  She'll accompany me to Mr Trustworthy appointment on 18th Nov, full of news and ideas.  Lovely.

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Two mixing bowls full of dried fruit and peel have (so far) absorbed over a litre of brandy.  Have they no shame?  And the sultanas still look like Joan Collins' hands, and have clearly a way to go.  Sling on some more and wait, then.

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Nice chap on the Broadway endeavoured to replace my lost poppy while refusing money from me.  One could tell he hadn't a background in sales.