Nine Feet Underground

It is, as the title says, Bloomsday, the annual celebration of James Joyce's novel, 'Ulysses', the action of which (more or less) all takes place in Dublin on the 16th June (though originally in 1904).  Although I cannot be in Dublin (nor can others, excepting those who live there) this year, I am still trying to celebrate, despite the limitations that having to work on this day place on me.  Next year 'Ulysses' will be 100, so it would be the perfect year to go to Dublin for Bloomsday, though it's probably booked up already or won't happen due to COVID or one of my many imponderables will strike, preventing me from going. I shall investigate. Early morning call with Talking Therapies and they agree with what I'd suggested last week, the only problem being there is an 8 week waiting list for counselling. All the usual safety and so forth questions answered as usual. I manage to squeeze in a bit of the Bloomsday breakfast before work takes over, starting ...

Up early in case I'm returning to work. I had a feeling I'd booked this week off as leave, but as I should have gone back to work last week, I need to check whether my client needs the work I was doing completed this week. Shower. Exercise. Dressed and making breakfast just as the first carer of the day arrived. I ate breakfast whilst setting up my work laptop, to get in touch with the people who could let me know my plan for the week, a process hampered by my password having expired last week. As luck would have it, I had booked this week off as annual leave and my client is also on leave this week, so instead of returning to work, I have a bit longer to fully recover.  As it turns out this was doubly fortuitous. Once I knew I was free today, I had a few chores to do and also to arrange chats with a couple of friends this week, then began to read the current issue of Private Eye. The carers and I have been keeping a close eye on my wife since the weekend's inciden...