Mum cries constantly.
My boiler is broken. No money for a new one.
My Carer's allowance might be stopped by Mr Cameron.
I await the postman...

I emailed the BBC's news website to let off steam.

My economy buy new white gas cooker is being cleaned and polished after every use. I like it even though it's smaller than my old one.
I'm still baking excellent puddings. Last night's steamed blackcurrant jam pudding was magnificent. Large, dome shaped, fat and sweet.

Mum has two hospital appointments. One tomorrow, one Friday. We're sure it's glaucoma. We're hoping something can be done because she can barely see.

I've also planned a small birthday party for my friend Mr Hairy Suit. I won't be so indelicate as to mention his age (yes, men care about that too) what I will say is he looks and behaves half his age.
I've been thinking hard about the menu, which is unsurprising considering how many people I'll be cooking for. 6. And how different their tastes and needs. But I've decided to keep it simple. More on that at the weekend I expect.

God it's cold in this room. My hands feel dead. The skin taut, purpleish, nails look ok though.
 Mum is sitting in the front room in front of a calor gas fire so kindly given to me by an old friend. By the way when the plumber came yesterday to check the boiler he said we should all be dead really on account of a hole in the boiler and the possibility of carbon monoxide poisoning.
After all the tinkering the boiler now has no cover and the draft coming form all the holes and gaps is positively arctic so I hung a couple of table mats and a bright new tea towel over the offending gaps until someone refits the casing. Probably Mr H will do it tonight:)