Today I had to go up town shopping for a blouse to go with the suit I'm wearing to Daughter 1's wedding in - help - five weeks today.
I live in Edinburgh, which is a medium-sized city with most of its shops within a mile or two of each other. Having gone into them all today, I can report that there are approximately four thousand blouses in town, that I've at least glanced at all of them and that I've bought three, to see which one looks least awful. I shall take two of them back. Not sure which two yet.
Sometimes in my life I muse on the fat person's version of the "Fiddler on the Roof" song, "If I were a rich man". You know: "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan, if I were a..." slim person? But then one has to get things in proportion, I know that. One of my students is a very nice 18-year-old with cerebral palsy. He walks with difficulty, using sticks, slowly. Which is bad enough, but he has terrible acne, too. And I was looking down at another student in a wheelchair the other day and noticed that she had bad dandruff.
Enough of this philosophising into the void. It's 1.28 am and I'm not convinced that I remember how to publish this. Daughter 1 did all the technical stuff for me yesterday. Here goes.