"The sun has got his hat on . . ." And so have I, and there's little hip-hip-hooray about it. Thanks to the retinitis pigmentosa the glare from a bright sun is almost unbearable nowadays, so I'm reduced to a baseball cap and a pair of dense black wraparound shades. On someone else (read a 'younger someone else') they might look cool, but on me I suspect the shades and cap ensemble looks a bit desperate. Like a man in the throes of a middle-age crisis. Not so, I cry. I'm just blind as a bat!
Syd the Builder (no relation to Bob) is well under way now with the extension to the bungalow. The back garden is a veritable building site, festooned with all manner of bricky detritus. I tell myself it will all be worthwhile, and that it'll be all over by Christmas.
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