The weather was OK, so I opted to save them the trouble of getting me home, and go, as usual, by buses, as it was by then a pre-lunch quiet time.
I got off at Aldwych, and walked very slowly to Trafalgar Square, where I got the 87. Hardly impressive, but considering the feckin' state I've been in, it was positively athletic.
I've had no further word from the Red Cross volunteers since my Monday appointment was cancelled. Oh well...Didn't get up until getting on for NINE this morning, and felt shattered all day. Reading about Ralph Richardson again (Garry O'Connor's AN ACTOR's LIFE, which promises to be more forthcoming about RR's general weirdness.)