Grumbling

Hm, it seems that Blogger is eating comments.  This has happened in the past - I've had an email notification on my iPhone saying there is a comment waiting to be moderated, and then when I login to Blogger on the PC there isn't one there.  Very odd. 

I can even see who it's from and what it said via the email, so it's doubly annoying not to be able to add it to the blog.

So, based on my imperfect memory of the comment, here's my reply:  Mr London Street - you are quite right, it was a shit remake.

Other news:  Mr WithaY and I are both still poorly.  I have been signed off work for another week, as I am still coughing like a bastard, although I am slowly recovering.  I keep thinking I am ok, so try to do something mildly domestic like ironing, or cooking lunch, whereupon I cough till I almost pass out.  It's all very tiresome and unpleasant.

The weather over the weekend was depressing, cold and wet, adding to the general air of malaise and gloom in the WithaY household.  What with that and the carefully-planted beans looking as if they are all dying, it's been a bit sad.

Mr WithaY has been cheering himself up this afternoon by researching Kentucky long rifles online, and I have been looking at guitar websites.  Part of me is thinking I ought to sell my Rickenbacker as I seldom play it, but the part I am listening to says "No!  You'll never find another one!"

One of the many things I hate about having a chest infection is that I can't sing.  At all.  Hell, I can barely speak.  And that means that my enthusiasm for playing my guitar drops away to almost zero, and my fingers soften up and then I get cross when I do try to play because it hurts so much.  Gah.

Well, now that I've spread a little sunshine, I will go and make supper.