The bad fortnight

A quiet week.

Reflux again. I slept propped up on three pillows and woke at two anyway. I have an appointment on Thursday and I am going to actually mention it this time rather than deciding it is not worth bothering anyone about.

Constipation, which I have avoided writing about for six weeks out of pure squeamishness. It is the thing making me most miserable and I have said nothing about it to anybody. That seems worth noticing.

Tide in at six.