This morning, I received the appointment for my eye operation. The day of our next auction. It would be, wouldn’t it? Anything else, I could cancel or change. So I phoned – I don’t know if it’s just the eye department at the Norfolk & Norwich, but again it was marvellously efficient. The phone picked up on the first ring, my details speedily checked and, within a minute or two I was offered another appointment on the next working day after the original appointment. I’ve accepted it of course, Dilly will take me to the hospital and then I have two offers – either she will wait with me until I’m ready to come home or otherwise she can leave me there and Weeza will pick me up after work. Plenty of time to see which is more suitable. It’ll be Monday 19th November, so not too long to wait. A bit unfortunately, I’ve got a couple of things on that week – a Nadfas study day and a governors’ meeting where I shall, undoubtedly, have to explain repeatedly what’s wrong with my eyelid. Never mind – as I said before, if that’s the worst that’s wrong with me I can only be grateful.
I was very tired again today – fine until lunchtime, when I cooked myself bacon and eggs (I’d only had a couple of mouthfuls of plain yoghurt for breakfast, the Sage had eaten out and, much as I like cheese and salad for lunch I’d had that every day so far this week) and afterwards I had to curl up in an armchair and go to sleep again. Is it food that’s doing it? It’s just occurred to me that last night and today I was wide awake before eating, had to sleep afterwards. I’m going out to dinner tonight and have to drive home, so I rather hope not.
I’m assuming it’s just this time of year, of course, because I’m used to having a drop in energy in the darker months. Our friends Pam and Peter, with whom I went to Corfu back in the early summer, spend several months in Portugal to get away from the cold and dark. I can quite see their point of view. And the clocks haven’t gone back yet, when things take a distinct turn for the worse. Changing the clocks twice a year seems an absurdly old-fashioned ritual. British Summer Time all year round would drop a heavy enough hint to the weather, surely?