I forgot to mention my sleeves were successfully lengthened. No more Tyrannosaurus-style arms!
What a relief.
It's been a funny ould week. I went to see a herbalist (at the behest of a good friend who swears by it) on Monday to wail briefly about my insomnia/migraines/betty-headedness. We met in a purpose built clinic in a field, with rustic, half-panelled walls, sort of cowboy saloon meets Meath bungalow. She handed over what looked like a petrol container of Meadowsweet and Lemonbalm petrol juice tincture cough mixture fluid. Off I went. Since I've been knocking it back before bed, I do feel better, I admit, the only drawback being a sort of Meadowsweet hangover on the first few mornings, that slowed me riiiiiiiiiiiiiight doooooooooooown and made me regret not having swigged 180mls of neat Whiskey the night before instead of the petrol juice. At least it would be some fun.
The cure lasts for two weeks. We'll see. What with that, and a small avalanche of the workiness landing on my head, there has not been as much lying around time as I would like. Never, never enough time to lie around. When, oh, when? Never, oh, never.
I must soon go and put my vinyl singing trousers on and join the choir. Before I go, I'd like to point out that I have just realised I have (black, opaque) tights on that I bought in M&S in the mid 1990's. They had a long fallow period lying in the bottom of my wardrobe in my parents' house, before I picked them up again, but still, not bad eh? There are young people training to be Guards in town at this moment to whom I could truthfully (though not well-advisedly) say: I have tights older than you.
Your oldest garment?