The numbness in my face is going off slightly, but I ring and make an appointment with old (Dr) Ludlow all the same. I might as well get my moneys worth out of the National Health Service.
Nothing of great interest in the news other than the re-opening of the sensational Lucan Case in London. I doubt very much whether any of us will ever hear of the Earl (of Lucan) again, and so it's an open and shut case, as it were.
Last Friday's Daily Mail had a piece about the Prince of Wales and Lady Jane Wellesley again. The will insist on linking the poor prince romantically with that ____ Radio Times researcher, who disgraces the very name of the august Iron Duke. If he, the prince that is, ever makes Lady J his princess I will take off all my clothes and parade around the garden in a nude form as a sign of protest. I'm not joking either.
Go see old Ludlow at 5.20. He sticks a massive metal instrument up my nose and peers up it and gives the occasional grunt. He then gives me a large jar of brown pills - quite the biggest things I've ever seen - and a few capsules to inhale. Hate going to the doctors. But the numbness was quite disturbing really. At work Sarah laughed when I said I probably had only six months left to live. I know it'sa terrible thing to say. I'm quite tempting fate in saying things like that, but one should always look non the funny side of life, and even more so the funny side of death.
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