And so I have an appointment to see a Doctor (possibly not a Timelord, though that would be quite amusing) at the community help place, and we'll take it from there.
I did not attend the auditions for Calendar Girls - it's best I don't commit to anything at the moment in case rehearsals clash with appointments or minor headfucks. My feeling is that this blog is coming to an end soon. I could go on until the Germans find the bookcase and uncover the annex but perhaps it's best not.
For one thing, it is not that hard now to connect the me who writes this occasionally entertaining diary to the me who works for a fairly high-profile organisation. That makes me a little uncomfortable. But more than that; it doesn't feel like I'm dancing in an empty room any more. Perhaps it never was like that, but it seemed so. Now I'm dancing with concerned or outraged or slightly horrified eyes on me. Which, if you've seen me dancing, is probably not that unusual.
In an ideal world, this blog would end with me finding a lovely, kind, insouciantly muscular chap who doesn't mind about the slight mentalness; and I'd put all my books on shelves in a spacious, elegant flat, then turn to him with a smile.
Of course that's all bollocks, and it will no doubt end something like this. But not today.