I thought it was Friday, so I was doing Friday stuff. And then I realised that it was, in fact, Thursday. Mind you, I didn't realise that until a few minutes ago. So I don't have a Thursday post ready to go. So...er...
I don't know how this happened, because I'm working with two diaries, the clock on my computer and the fridge calendars provided by Mr Knuth and Mr Katter. They all tell me that it's Thursday. Even the Katter one. In my defence, I'm feeling unwell and spent much of today (and a good bit of yesterday) sprawled on the sofa.
I noticed — in what was a clearly semi-delirious state — that pressing a white lace handkerchief to your forehead and staggering to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water doesn't generate any sympathy from the wildlife. The brush turkeys still try to kick open the kitchen door and Pip remains unimpressed.
Back tomorrow. Possibly in normal condition. But nobody run a book on that, okay?
