I thought that around 09.00 I was going to get a text from Hayley who would tell me precisely what time mid-morning and where in Witney I should pick her up from and which garage in Oxfordshire I would have to take her to, so she could collect her new car.
The phone rang at 09.09, Hayley saying she was ready now to be picked up. Half an hour later I was there.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘Bristol’, was her response.
Oh well. A few hours later I was back home tucking in to a slightly delayed lunch.
We watched a couple of episodes of Angel and afterwards, for some inexplicable reason, the couch saw some serious action for an hour.
And now Soph is prepping tea while I contemplate getting dressed – or showering and getting dressed.
But that’s not quite it.
I have a niggling throat and a few aches and throbs in various joints. And a headache which, as a rule, I never get. And I feel just a little…
Odd. Peculiar. At sixes and sevens. And tired, desperately tired.
I had a really horrid dream last night. It’s the second time in six months I’ve had that dream. It wasn’t an exact duplicate, some of the less important details were missing and one or two of the important facts were altered.
It woke me, this nightmare, and it troubled me so much I was unable to sleep again afterwards.
So I’ve been up since a little before 06.00.
I think the bad night-time experience has probably added to my general feeling of… whatever this is.
And I’ve sneezed quite a bit today, when sneezing isn’t normally even a daily occurrence.
But I don’t know if the whole ‘not quite right’ thing is physical, mental or psychological.
I just know that I’m at sixes and sevens.
And according to a certain film on ITV2 right now, I’ve just relearned that Joan of Arc was Noah’s wife.