An inauspicious year

The year 2022 is going to be recorded in the annals of Grandad John as an annus horibilis. In addition to my own deteriorating health and the end of my working life, both our friends Malcolm and now Rae have gone down with Covid, and today we received notice that Mike has been admitted to hospital with a heart attack. He is still only 47 and ought to be in good health. Today, he had a cardiogram with dyes pumped through his arteries, showing a blockage in one, so they have fitted a stent. At the same time, I was having dye pumped through my veins for a whole-body CAT-scan. At least mine was just a check-up, and hopefully will not throw up any nasty surprises.

I have commented before that Byron invariably finds a ball when he is out. Usually it is a tennis ball, sometimes new sometimes already shredded; occasionally a full football; once, a child's beachball with coloured lights in it that flashed every time he shook it in his mouth. Today, he found a minature football hiding in the long grass/ Barely an inch across, I was frightened he might choke on it so had to take it off him, to his disgust.