Current State in Pictures.

I’m going through a lot of personality shifts at the moment as the post-operative phase enters its sixteenth week and the vicissitudes of the post-operative condition present their various faces. Some days I feel like this:

  

And some days it’s this:

  

Sometimes this is nearer the mark:

On days when earnestness raises its tedious head I'm one of these:

And at around 2am it’s not unknown for me to transmute into my literary alter-ego:

  

My current mood is being dictated by the return of that nagging sense that all is not right with me, that some further lamentable failing of my biological faculties lies waiting to be discovered, and that I will soon be sleeping well after life’s fitful fever. At such times I’m given to musing on where I should like my remains to rest. If I’m to be buried I would like it to be here:

  

This is the north-west corner of the churchyard in the village where I was happiest.

If I’m to be reduced to dust by the purifying flames of some municipal crematorium, I would like the ashes to be deposited here:

  

This is a tree in a local wood where I once walked with the Lady B and her little dog. The memory is a fond one and the spot, therefore, appropriate. The problem is I don’t remember which tree it was, but I don’t suppose it matters. Any tree will do as long as it’s close to the path and looks hungry.

And then comes the matter of my haunting style. Sometimes I’ll appear like this:

 

And sometimes this:

  

And this is probably the scariest of all, especially when accompanied by gurgling noises:

  

And when my spirit is lacking imagination I’ll revert to how I appeared in life:

  

Of course, it’s just as possible that I’ll carry on regardless and still be writing this blog in ten years time. I’m not sure which is the less attractive prospect.