Can't write; my painting's rubbish, and the pony stood on me.

My arm came back with a vengeance. Not that it had gone anywhere but you all know how  I tend to meander before getting to the point.

    The pain in my arm returned and now I can't write again.  After waiting hours to see the quack he gave me painkillers strong enough to finish off most mortals. They didn't work - as usual. My arm hurts even worse than before, and the painkillers gave me tooth ache.


    Do some painting I said to myself. So I did, and it would have been one of my better ones; before I started messing about with reflections. It's a pity because it was pretty good, right up to the moment I ruined it. It's not a photo, I actually drew the car which is hard for me because I'm better at landscapes.

   On the plus side, I'll have another interview in a few days. I've been looking forward to this and thought long and hard about my questions.

And my daughter's pony stood on my foot.

And I got hit by a plastic bag while riding my bike. Straight into my face. It didn't do any harm but by the time I'd wrenched it off, I'd nearly rammed a truck with a mass about ten thousand times greater than my own.

I'm staying inside tomorrow.