Writing this blog can be cathartic. And I get a bee in my proverbial bonnet and ten minutes into writing, I fall into a wormhole and have launched a weeding diatribe. But my lovely readers don’t want that do they? (Actually I don’t know what they want, as you don’t leave many comments, or I have set comments to Off?). It’s November and it’s getting colder so glossy photos of stunning gardening moments are harder to find or plan. (Too cold!) And grunt work or planning is the nature of gardening for me in the run up to Christmas which is only 49 or so days away…

But having set the title I’ve forgotten what I was being hypocritical about? I’ve been to the hospital for the umpteenth time about my plastic surgery and my surgeon still wants to see me in another year. I would have been able to draw a line under it and say it is what it is. But apparently there is still more that could be done? Really? Three years or more since the frankly nightmarish prospect of possible breast cancer arose I would quite happily close the door and consign it to the ‘let’s forget about that’ drawer.

Despite agreeing that my surgery still looks angry and red, it does look better. (?) But the medication I take, Tecfidera, or dimethyl fumerate, could be playing with my ability to heal quickly as it is an anti-inflammatory drug to stop things crossing over neural pathways or something? Highly complex but there is something that concurs with my limited understanding of this stuff. And there is a point, I am not being cut free: an appointment in a year’s time has been made. Let’s hope it won’t be 90 minutes late next year?

I love that we have the NHS, my surgery and my MS medication cost alone (never mind two pregnancies) would have put us on the streets if we’d been made to pay, but the cost benefit is definitely not obvious when you have to wait in line with other people and they are in a hurry too. Not easy to stay calm when your 2-hour parking ticket is about to expire.

I have so many reasons to be thankful but it’s easy to look around and think there should be more. More sun, more plants, more grass cutting, more weeding? That is the truth. Spring out of bed (I don’t?) and be busy! Come on! The dog’s keen? She pushed into the bedroom at 7. Go on! It’s the weekend!

The fireworks were thumping away last night and the dog was unsettled. She may be half deaf but she’s still vulnerable. She doesn’t know why we set off the fireworks or why they relate to Diwali or gunpowder plots but they are definitely getting louder (silent ones are less fun?) and after the years we’ve just had, why not?