We had breakfast as usual, and as usual I washed the dishes and generally tidied up. I do not know if the chemo is having a strange side effect on me; I now take enormous pleasure from washing up, and each cup and dish gets polished and put away with loving care in exactly the right place, and I have to force myself to stop cleaning and polishing. This is rather strange from someone who used to agree with Scarlet O'Hara's motto of "I will worry about that tomorrow." I am wondering how far this will go, will I creep down in the night to polish up a few more cups before long?
Eventually I tore myself from the kitchen and walked down to Edgware, taking a letter to the surgery en route. It was sunny and hot, and I went to the Broadwalk to get a Radio Times as well before coming home on the bus.
Later, managing to steer clear of the kitchen I did a bit of pruning in the garden, and Mas did some gardening too. We watched a couple of Frasiers before turning into bed.
