We’re back down south for a couple of days, leaving Rose to hold the fort back in East Angular.  LT has an appointment and we’d invited friends for dinner on Wednesday – Tim’s in-laws, in fact, who have kept him as part of their family.  We had to cancel most of our engagements between now and the new year, but we thought we could keep the ones up to the date of my op.  Luckily, the three hospital appointments fitted in nicely, one of them being today, which we went to on our way here.  There was freezing fog, so we went on the main roads instead of nifty short cuts, which don’t really save more than a minute or two anyway.

There was a road sign as we left Yagnub, giving “advanced warning” of roadworks on the way to Norwich next year.  We were so busy making humorous remarks about A Level warnings and beginner’s warnings that we didn’t really take in what the notice was about, but I sort of took in delays from May to the Autumn.  We may have to take another route to Norwich altogether, if that’s the case.  The days grow short when you reach September, after all.

With rare powers of organisation, I’ve made the bed I’ll sleep in when I come home from hospital.  In fact, I’ll sleep in it on Thursday night, which will be a sensible thing in more than one way – if there is anything I can do to make it more comfortable, better to find out while I can go and do so.  And they are, wisely, very anxious to keep the hospital as hygienic as possible.  I’ve been given a bottle of Hibiscrub and instructed to wash with it for five days before the op (which seems a bit ott, but no matter) to sleep in fresh sheets the night before and, on the morning, to wash myself especially thoroughly, all over including between my toes, leave it a minute before rinsing, then repeat, including my hair; then dress in completely clean clothes.  So the post-op bed is an easy way of getting that bit right.  Oh, and I’ve also packed my suitcase.   Anyone might think I’m really looking forward to this op.  And they’d be right.

Yesterday, we had a visit to our solicitor – still sorting out legal things together as well as my own stuff, which hasn’t yet been finished.  I said apologetically to her, as we were leaving, that things were going a bit slowly in regard to changing my name.  I told her about the aborted attempt with the letting agents and that they wanted to check all my details as if I were a new client.  She rolled her eyes and said that they were being absurd, there is no legal requirement for it.  And the only small bother, if I’ve changed some things and not others, would be a few extra bits and pieces of paperwork if I were to die.  She sounded pretty relaxed about it.  We get on very well.