I was thinking about hanging up laundry later, but I think mebbe not.
We saw Mike and Heather last night, they seem to be doing well considering how hard they are both working. Dr. Filk and Keith accompanied me. That was the first time I’ve felt good enough to actually walk over there, so we walked there and back again; we left a bit early as Mike had to work the next day, poor guy. The paraesthesia is no better, but my mobility has improved tremendously; I can bend and twist a lot better than I could at Christmas.
Keith found the bag downstairs at Mike and Heather’s and started kicking it. It’s difficult to describe the noise; the whole house quivered uneasily. Keith had a particularly fine sparring session at club the other night.
Keith has registered with an agency to get film extra work this summer. We shall see how he does.
The great chain of beer continues to expand; Burnt exposed me to Cutthroat Pale Ale, and I exposed Mike to it. He was favourably impressed.
Wilfred Hyde-White figured prominently in my dreams last night. He kept making guest appearances and making droll English noises.
