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So many immigrant criminals? This gives strength to the right-wing mob! 

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I’m not sure if this ever happened. I do not trust my memory anymore. Yet I dreamed of this last night, and to me, it was a real memory… but…
I’d be about nine years old at the time; I was visiting Mr Widdowson, a grand old chap, and his wife. I was concerned about his knees playing up and asked him if I could call on him after school the next day to see how he was. He lit his pipe before answering me (I loved the smell of his baccy, whichever it was) and replied, “Well young un, it’s reet kind on yer, but you should get on with living; I’m ready for death, and a bit of peace, but  mostly to be free of pain.” “But I’ll not half miss the missus!” He smiled gently and added, “If yer lives long enough, you’ll understand worra mean, lad”. And gave me a threepenny bit and a home-baked buttered scone. I’m not certain, and I think I had the exact same dream later on in the morning. Twice more!
I just thought I’d mention it.

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Woke up by Carer Chris.
To find the right hand mangled by the Peripheral Neuropathy Pete.
And the left one, by Colin Cramps!.

Carer Chris removed the Nocturnal Night Pouch, and took the above photos for me.

Gorgeous skies.

Not passing much these last two hours, and I’d been guzzling the spring water?

Another view of the sky.

More bills arrived. Huh!

The afternoon brought the clouds out!

Nibble time.

Aha, the Amazon cans of beef arrived; I shall try these on a wholemeal roll with chips, methinks…Chips! Did I say chips? No, they are banned! Ahem!

Evening views are not very good, mind you.
I got a duplicate-ridden one here… Tried again
Not good again, but betterer?

Well, once more, I failed.

A chipless meal, you notice?
Slurp! Gobble!
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TTFN