Shall not rant about idiocy of bank (they get shouted at tomorrow), the recrudescence of my infected arm (shall be making doctor's appointment tomorrow pronto), or about what twonks British Rail, or whatever they call themselves nowadays, are, because I'm happy.
Or, at least, shall not rant yet. May do that after I wake up again and have at least contacted the idiots at the bank to see in what way they've fucked up - at least I hope they have, or Badness has happened while I've been unaware. Fingers crossed for me, please.
Have not written more of That Thing yet, but have plenteous notes in a sweet little A6 notebook.
