Its Tuesday and a meeting day so its a quick muesli and drugs breakfast before getting ready to be on screen again. The meeting goes well and is really useful. Of course there is work to pick up and information to share so I set to and send the emails and make the notes.
While I am doing this the post arrives. My first letter is another “get back in your box boy” letter and confirms my leper status until the end of March. I am not over joyed but I can withstand the ennui that the situation generates. I might even get round to learning the banjo.
The second letter was a classic. It is a letter to my GP informing her that the specialist at the DVT clinic has signed me off. On reading it is quite positive and supportive. It has one fatal flaw. Point 1 is wrong. It was not my left leg that had the DVT, it was my right leg. Not a letter to fill me with confidence in the medical profession.
A brief lunch of bacon and coffee and I am ready to finish the admin work from this morning and read a report on how prisoners were surviving, or not the pandemic in prison. I decide to head for the garage and to row for an hour. Its the first time I will have rowed for an hour so I am interested to see how it goes. It went as follows;
Kilometres 
Time & Calories
I am pleased with the way the hour goes and particularly pleased to have averaged a kilometre every five minutes. Its a personal best that I can challenge in the future. My body tells me it knows what it has just done so I get myself into a warm bath as soon as possible. I now like to get in the bath and then add the bath bomb, its just more fun.
I read in the bath and finish the book on under achieving white working class boys. I am intrigued by “pen licences”. Apparently some schools insist on a certain level of performance before you get a ” pen licence” which means you can then use a proper pen. At least as far as I can make out this is the case. In my humble opinion whoever thought this was a good idea for white working class underachieving boys was an unmitigated arsehole. As a dyslexic white working class under achiever not having a licence would become a matter of pride and motivate me to spray paint “wanker” on the school wall.
I get out of the bath and start the blog as a friend rings and we have a chance to say hello and talk about COVID, family, work, sewing and all the other things we are doing. I eat tea and return to the blog before the nights football match but not before I order my monthly block of drugs from the GP. My jab Monday is looming. Not my favourite experience.
