Great expectations

I never liked Dickens when I read most of his books at school. A few years ago, I re-read Great Expectations and David Copperfield, to see if I had been wrong earlier, but I still didn’t like them. It’s the women – they are all either dolls or men in skirts. It’s a mystery to me that someone could be judged a great writer when he couldn’t write about half of the human race.

Anyway, that’s an aside. I had great expectations of my fracture boot. Someone had told me that I would need a stick for a few days, and then the idea was to use the foot as much as possible. I thought I’d be leaping about like those spring lambs who really do live up to expectations. But in fact I still need two crutches, and my foot hurts a lot, so I’m rather disappointed. I want to run! – let alone walk.

I have managed to do a few things. I’ve been out and about a bit more, which has been nice; but I’ve had to cancel or postpone some things I hoped to do this week.

On the bright side, The Son came home yesterday and did some tidying and vacuumed downstairs, so I am no longer wading through a sea of filth. Hooray! Thank you, The Son. And The Daughter continues to entertain me with phone calls, and The Bloke has been wonderful. In fact, people are really nice to you when you are on crutches – they run to open doors, and stand aside to let you pass.

And now I have to wait for Orange, or rather eeeeeeeeee, to call me back to get my email fixed. Sigh. Last time I phoned them, it was all done in just a few minutes, but not today; expectations dashed again.

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