Update from this mornings post...

Talking in advert breaks isn't exactly the way to make plans for life.
But we discussed and came quietly to a half-cocked agreement.
She'd do the sensible thing and open her mouth to her GP and I would continue to fume:)
Not really fume. Just get slightly warm over her recent unwillingness to make a legitimate fuss over health issues.
Got to speak up Mother. If you don't bother, who will?
So tomorrow we will go back to London to do blood tests and chat informally with doc about pencil thin legs and vomit.

My beef casserole is coming along nicely.

And so, with fingers crossed that Mr H. gets home at a decent time (arrived last night an hour late) I'll cheerily natter whilst serving beef soaked dumplings and grape jelly:)

A quick after thought...Jeremy Clarkson is not my cup of tea. His juvenile antics leave me wishing he'd feel the force of poverty or better still, a run in with a decent bout of depression.

Cheerio.