I proceeded to fall asleep during EASTENDERS ( A bit extreme, even for me- ) snore right through HOLBY CITY (easily done-) make it halfway through an episode of LAST DAYS OF ANNE BOLEYN, and totally miss the documentary on SPITTING IMAGE! Jesus! I couldn't get up this morning until well after eight, too. The fragility of age, or so pissed off by all the tedious daily agro that I just can't face cosciousness?
I am now feckin' self-isolating, although it seems hardly worth bothering, and grumping away furiously.
BTW, if you don't follow Carrie McNinch's ever-delightful diary zine YOU CAN'T GET THERE FROM HERE, check her out on Patreon, and give her some money. I was very affected by #56, the other day, as her cherished cat, Milo, approached her last days. She really captures the bittersweetness of loving a critter.
I guess now I'll mount the exercise bike and chug through an episode or two of BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, then do an EVERYBODYYY MOVE workout.
I don't want to...