Woes.

I have my next post-cancer screening scheduled for tomorrow. The problem with post-cancer screenings is that they bear a disturbing resemblance to the game of Russian roulette, and the potential consequences can be just as serious. Maybe I’ll have something to report tomorrow night.

And today’s dose of wet stuff (it’s become almost unheard of now to go a whole 24  hours without something wet falling from the sky – and usually be blown sideways by at least a gale force wind) was a mixture of rain and hail. The woman I met in the lane while I was out clearing the road drains for about the fifteenth time in six weeks delighted in telling me that the weather forecast for the next few days is really awful. I hoped she’d only been reading the tabloids.