- John Copeland -

Friday 17th March - Thursday 23rd March, 2017


Springtime flowers in the garden

"Your Panglossian optimism is a bit like the chap who jumps off a skyscraper and as he passes the 40th floor he shouts, "all right so far!"

Comment made by a correspondent when I said that there was no indication so far that leaving the European Union had any worsening consequences.


I was pleased to hear that the elderly neighbour with whom I watched an episode of "Band of Brothers" and the film "I, Daniel Blake", yesterday evening also loathed direct debits, refusing to have any of them on account of not wanting to lose control of his banking account - the very reason I always put forward for avoiding the hateful transactions, firms being able to take out as much money and when they like from your account. I would rather pay considerably more to avoid them, as I have to do with the electricity and telephone bills. I gather that the refund of a Direct Debit overpayment takes months and months to be repaid.

Two health scares this week. The first one is Ibuprofen, now said to cause extensive heart failure and bleeding in the stomach. Ibuprofen is one of the few painkilling medicines that I have never been able to take, finding that even a small dosage gives me an awful stomach ache, so it is just as well that I cannot take the painkiller for my ever worsening arthritis in my knees. Instead, I take "Zapain", made up of 30 mg Codeine Phosphate and 500 mg Paracetemol. This relieves, though obviously does not cure, the poorly joints, worn out with old age.

The other scare, reported in the "Daily Express" today, is that "Statins raise diabetes risk." In the past I have been advised by my doctor to take statins, but I have resisted this advice, especially after several people from America warned me never to take them. Obviously they were right, and I am so thankful I heeded their advice. It seems to me that the fewer pills and potions that are taken, the better the body will be, not that many of them ever work and/or have serious side effects.

As I am giving up computing completely when I reach the 1,000th edition of this diary on the 27th April, 2017, I realised that I will no longer have access to Internet banking, so today I bought a ledger to record transactions in the old fashioned manner, there being no risks of scams or breakdowns. It is all part of my intention to go back to the simple life of the 1950s, when life was so much easier, and possibly far more pleasurable. I am also giving up my mobile telephone when the contract ends on the 31st December, finding that I seldom use it, saving about 20 a month.

A correspondent from Dallas, commenting on my decision to finish the diary, has said in an e-mail: "It seems pretty apparent that the inconvenience of typing on slow computers won't outweigh your need to broadcast your opinions and enjoy the resulting email. A book and a model airplane won't be enough to fill your time. We all need access to the larger world." I fear that there may be some truth in that, but we will see. I have had a good innings with the diary, and I am now too old to continue it, finding typing so difficult. Nevertheless, I will certainly miss the comments. Old age, which is not for cissies, is essentially a matter of giving up things.


President Trump's golf course in Scotland with its magnificent buildings. Why on earth did he want to be President, having all that money?

I was pleased to hear that Mrs. May has refused Mrs. Sturgeon's request for a referendum on Scotland's independence, arguing quite rightly that we should be working together in terms of leaving the EU, not pulling apart. It will therefore be some six years before a referendum could be considered, Mrs Sturgeon being well and truly wrapped up and told where to get of by our increasingly powerful Prime Minister. Although I have always had a loathing for female politicians, I now begin to admire our resolute Prime Minister. Cameron would not have been so decisive, spending his time floundering around, giving in whenever there was any opposition.

So much for a columnist saying in yesterday's "i" that "Sturgeon leads, others follow. Corbyn and May have both been outwitted by the SNP leader." How wrong can you get, but then another columnist in the "i" wrote on the 14th October, 2015: "Corbyn's end is nigh", and another, on the 4th February 2016, told us: "Cameron gave us what he promised. Changes to the EU may seem minor but they'll win the referendum". Perhaps the newspaper ought to put up the cover price, getting some different columnists.

A correspondent, commenting on my view of the Scottish referendum, wrote in an e-mail today: "Scotland is not the poor relation you seem to think it is. It is second only to London and the South-East in income per capita," Yet in "The Daily Telegraph" for the 14th of this month, it is stated that "Scotland's deficit is larger than that of Greece", and it is mentioned that Scotland's dependence upon oil, now falling in price in a glutted market, could cause severe consequences for the economy.

Even so, I am all in favour of giving the Scots independence, making sure that Hadrian's Wall is kept in good repair. As mentioned last week, we may then get the BBC back.

Mrs. Copeland drove off at 10 o'clock to spend until Sunday lunchtime with her mother down in Essex, leaving me on my own. I always worry about her driving down the A1 for it is a veritable dodgem, foreign lorry drivers pulling out onto the fast lane without any warning. I suppose they do not have Highway Codes in their country, everyone for himself, as on French roads or the autobahns in Mrs. Merkel's land where you can be knocked off the road by a Mercedes travelling at 120 mph.

The snail-mail post brought the new insurance premium for my scooter. amounting to 115,55 for the year. Last year the premium was 118.30, so something has actually gone down in price. Amazing!

At 1 p.m. I went to "The Birdcage" pub to have lunch and a drink with daughter Kate during her lunch-hour, obviously without Mrs. C. As I was driving I could only have 1 pint of weak beer, which was a bit of a pity. Under proposed legislation, it will even be illegal to have a single pint of beer, while drivers using mobile telephones never seem to get caught. Today I saw a lorry driver using one of these appliances, and hardly a day goes by without seeing other offenders, some even texting while driving, would you believe it.

A member of my family having terrible pain with one of her toes, hardly able to walk, tried to contact the doctor to arrange for an X-ray today, only to be told that there were no appointments available for the foreseeable future. She subsequently telephoned a podiatrist to ask for an appointment, being informed that she needed to see her doctor to have a referral to the orthopaedic department - but she cannot get an appointment. A Catch 22 if ever there was one.

We allow all these immigrants to flood into our country unchecked and unrestricted every year - some 330,000 last year, representing a city four times the size of Lincoln, and those only the ones accounted for, and we then wonder why, in an already grossly overcrowded country, we cannot maintain any of our public services. As my old grandfather would have said, a fine example of the politicians fu***ng up everything they touch.

How wise, therefore, for the worthy President Trump (whom I get to admire more every week, thanking heaven he is not a politician) to restrict immigration into his country, and to refuse to have Obama's health provision, obviously having seen the chaos our NHS has resulted in, under-funded, undermanned, under endless re-organisation, people wanting the full range of facilities but not wanting to pay for them, as shown by the fuss when the self-employed had tax rises, only for the measure to be rescinded.

It makes me so thankful that I am old and only have a few more years (months?) left in this chaotic country, a state of anarchy probably being a vast improvement. It would be so unbelievably awful to have another 40 years in all this muddle, madness and fine mess, reminding me yet again that I really did live in the best of times.

Those were the days when you could telephone a company and get straight through to the person you wanted to speak to, without having to go through endless menu options, either ending up listening to pop music or having an Indian, knowing hardly any English, answering the call. We were also lucky in not having those scam telephone calls from India.

You could speak to a bank manager, and even have a clear run on the roads, not having to end up in a tailback several miles long, and not having to take emergency action when a foreign lorry-driver pulled out without any warning, Lorry-drivers were then the knights of the road; now they are the nightmare of the roads. We even lived within our means, and for much of my life I did not have to face the misery of computers. There was the delight in those far away days when we had a newspaper delivered at 7.30 a.m. every day, but now nobody wants to do any work. I suppose it has to be admitted that this is one of the worries about Brexit.

I had an English doctor who could see me either the same day or the next. There were two postal deliveries a day, and England was for the English. And let nobody tell me that this is racist or political incorrectness on my part, for the argument cannot be deflected in that shameful manner. It is about time we stood up for what we believe in, though I fear it is far too late, the horse having bolted.

The computer was playing silly buggers today, going slower than a British worker. How thankful I will be when the 27th April comes with the 1,000th edition of this diary, thereafter never switching on a computer ever again. No more crashes, no more going slowly, and no more viruses. Oh, the joy in store.

An evening by the fireside on my own, the house seeming very quiet. I just hope I "go" first, for life on my own would be impossible and so miserable. The worry is that if I take no exercise and disregard all the health warnings, I could live far longer, certainly longer than a vegetarian or vegan with their rabbit food As it was, I did not feel all that well in the evening, having an awful feeling of nausea and stomach pains, so unpleasant that I went to bed at 10 o'clock.


Apart from a brief visit to the town to purchase a copy of "The Times" it was a morning and afternoon at home, not feeling at all well. I had an awful feeling of nausea and a stomach upset.

In "The Times" I read that Osborne, the former sacked Chancellor who made such a mess of the economy, getting us more and more into debt and never managing to balance the Budget, is to become editor of the London Evening Standard newspaper on a salary of 220,000, while still holding onto his seat in Parliament (74,000) - a part-time politician if ever there was. Thank heavens the newspaper is "out of area" in Lincolnshire.

The joyless George, possibly one of the most disliked Chancellors of all time, also has found a job with an investment company, receiving 650,000 for 12 days' work, in addition to having earned 780,000 for 14 speaking engagements. Nice work, and nice little earners, but as a sacked Chancellor he has lost his power base, now being a nonentity, soon to disappear into the political desert of failed politicians, along with the loathed Blair

In the "Review" section of "The Times" there was a review of a biography on Kahlil Gibran, the reviewer saying that his book "The Prophet", which sold over 40 million around the world, was "sentimental, wishy-washy and meaningless." Nevertheless, I like his views on life immensely, particularly when he writes about children: " Your children are not your children/They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself/They come through you but not from you/And although they are with you they belong not to you."

And of houses, asking whether there is the required peace, quietness and beauty, he says: "Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house as a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master?" And of marriage: "Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone."

The real issue, which the spiteful reviewer clearly does not understand, is that the values in the 1920s when Gibbon wrote "The Prophet" have changed immensely. Today we live in a harsher, crueller, uncaring world in which parents dump their babies and infants in a nursery all day while mummy goes out to work; when greed and selfishness predominates; and when we separate or get divorced at the first sign of any marital trouble

These are the times when we want public services but do not want to pay for them; and when there is no longer any concept of society, no helping and caring for one another, and when women want a new kitchen when the fashion changes. Materialism rules, OK? No wonder the nasty reviewer denigrates Gibbon, almost seeing his ideas as heresy, yet he was greatly appreciated in his day, and still is by people who have a more intelligent attitude towards life.

In "The Times" Matthew Parris devotes his column to saying that "Parliament has all but withdrawn from active politics", and predicting that the sacked and exiled Chancellor "can lead fight with the right", I suggest that he is wrong on both counts. This week has seen Parliament approve our withdrawal from the EU, surely a monumental Parliamentary activity, while Mrs. May has said she is going to do something about the overcharging of the power companies.

Secondly, Osborne, however much money he is making has, as mentioned earlier, lost his power base as Chancellor, no longer being part of the policy making process, now cast out into the desert of failed politicians. This is also true of the hopeless Blair who said he was going to stop us coming out of the EU, the fellow having about as much power and influence as a dead statesman, all wind and p**s. as events subsequently proved.

Osborne will no doubt make all manner of snide and nasty editorial comments about Mrs. May in the limited newspaper he has joined, but nobody will take the slightest notice of him. Meanwhile, part of the trouble with our Matthew, who sadly seems to be away with the fairies these days, usually such a splendid writer, is that as a pronounced Remoaner he just cannot get over that he was so disastrously wrong, a bad loser. Hence we have to hear all this renaissance and reformation rubbish.

I agree with him that there are some justifiable fears that, under Mrs. May, the Tory Party has moved to the extreme far right, seen especially in the manner of Jacob Rees-Mogg, who is more extreme than Genghis Khan, a horrible expression of politics, Yet, rather like America, we need a spell of authoritarian government to get us out of the muddle that Cameron and Osborne left behind. A firm hand is needed, and much to my surprise Ms. May seems to have this desirable characteristic, not bullied by that awful woman Sturgeon

In the snail-mail post I received the revised payment for the council tax for the financial year 2017/18, showing a shameful increase of 3.5% on last year - more money for the County Council to waste, an authority that gives every appearance of existing primarily for its staff and councillors, all the time making cuts, its potholed highways in an appalling mess and libraries closing down.

I do not mind paying the contribution to our local District Council, for it provides an excellent household refuse collection service, and has a Planning Committee that is concerned about the environment, as was shown when it unanimously threw out the plans for the horrible "Shed" in our community, only for the unsuitable and out of place edifice being e allowed on appeal, an everlasting blot, now weathering badly, on our landscape. It is the wasteful expenditure of the County Council that I object to so much, not that we have any say in the matter, receiving a worthless "County News" full of trumpet-blowing and self praise.

The council tax demand had an accompanying leaflet advocating direct debits, saying "Stay ahead with Direct Debit" and "Don't be a slow coach p-p-p-pick up a Direct Debit." In addition to the contributions to the County Council of 1003,66; to the District Council 178.88; our Parish Council 15,23; and the Police Commissioner 182.64 (and what an utter waste that appointment that is) there was an item "Adult Social Care 39.38". I wonder, just wonder, how much of that money will ever get to the intended beneficiaries? Mercifully, I can pay by cheque in 10 instalments, so I am able to prevent losing control of my banking account by a diabolical direct debit.

I have made a start on making the Airfix kit of an Armstrong Whitworth Whitley Mark V bomber, not the most elegant or effective of the early WW2 bombers. It was designed for night use, and with a limited ceiling of 15,000 ft it was very vulnerable with a full bombload. This will probably be the last model I make now that the Spring days are here, probably not making another until the late Autumn. It is a hobby I have greatly enjoyed, even though one unpleasant reader sneered at a hobby that children gave up at the age of 12 years.


Catering at President Trump's golf course in Scotland

Later in the day I still felt very unwell today, feeling very much out of sorts, spending quite a lot of time in bed. I think the malady may have caused by some tablets of antihistamine that I took for my skin irritation. I therefore did not attend the St. Patrick's Evening at the local Club, having earlier arranged to go with two female neighbours in Mrs. C's absence down in Essex. No doubt Mrs. Copeland will believe that I feigned illness to avoid going to that event, and although I have to admit that I was not keen on attending, the fact was that I was too poorly to attend such a noisy event, and the last thing I wanted was some food.

Admittedly, I am not all that keen in my old age on social gatherings, finding them vexatious to the spirit. The trouble is that, like Oscar Wilde's Selfish Giant, I soon run out of conversation, finding that most women are not being all that interested in American foreign policy. I therefore prefer to stay in the civilisation and peace of home, that blessed oasis in a troubled world.

Apparently, President Trump is thinking of taking military action against that silly little man in North Korea who is playing with rockets. It is difficult to know what to do for the best. Does America take no action, allowing the foolish man to develop nuclear rocket warheads, or do they put an end to him now, inevitably meaning the death of millions of civilians? It is not easy being a President, whatever the lily-livered liberal fraternity may say, most of them only having to decide what they are going to have for breakfast.

Having spent several hours in bed in the evening, I got up about 10 p.m. and worked/played on the Airfix kit of the Armstrong Whitworth Whitley Mark V bomber. Afterwards, I read some more of the novel "Darke" by Rick Gekoski. A magnificent book. I greatly enjoy the modern novel; indeed, I do not think I could nowadays plough through Dickens, though I might manage Thomas Hardy, regarded by the academics as the first modern novelist. I just cannot believe how intelligent men and women can watch all the dumbed-down nonsense of the idiot's lantern.

On BBC2 on a Saturday, because of the lack of new programmes, an episode of "Dad's Army" has to be shown at the peak time of 8.30 p.m. Television seems to be a spent force, suitable only for sporting events and the daily news. I suppose people watch the rubbish because of laziness.

Having missed the 6 p.m news bulletin on Radio 4 that I usually listen to, I switched on "News at Ten", and to my delight it did not have the interrupted headlines in which there is a comment on every item raised - an infuriating arrangement. The bulletin this evening was presented by a man, whereas it is usually presented by a woman whose name I can never catch, sounding like "Rita Rush-Hour." I just hope that today's better arrangement is followed in future, but I doubt it, everything having to be dumbed down these days.


Fortunately, I felt very much better on waking up this evening, so that was a relief. A nasty turn.

From the Parish Council, on which serve as a member, I received an e-mail from the excellent Clerk telling me that "There will be a fresh round of Planning training sessions being held this year, to which Parish Councillors are invited to attend." The sadness is that, with the latest planning changes by our politicians, developers (that most dreaded of words in the English language) have far more powers, and nearly every application for additional housing is rubber-stamped by the Inspectorate for approval. Planning Committees have become almost redundant, certainly more impotent/

The OECD has even said yesterday that, in view of the housing shortage in this country, permission should be give to build on Green Fields. I suppose this is understandable as the immigrants flood into out country, causing immense pressures on housing, as well as the National Health Service. Maybe there is the hope now that we are coming out of the European Union that we will not need so many houses, but it is going to be several years before this happens, every field being at risk.


The finished Dakota that I have made. I have now started on an Airfix Armstrong Whitworth Whitley Mk.V. Not the most elegant of bombers.

Mrs. Copeland arrived home about 1.15 p.m, the 136-mile journey usually taking just on three hours, though with very little traffic today she managed 2.45 hours. It is a tiresome and dangerous journey, especially on the A1 where few drivers take any notice of the speed limit, least of all lorry-drivers, and in overcrowded Essex the roads are a nightmare, a speed limit of 30 mph everywhere. I enjoy seeing my relations down in Essex, but I am so glad that I moved away from that materialistic county - initially to Yorkshire that I hated, and then to the delights of the backwater of Lincolnshire, where peace really does come dropping slow, where people have time to stand and stare. Indeed, it is like Essex was in better days 50 years ago.

We decided not to go to the local Club in the afternoon, instead staying at home. The evening was spent by the fireside, reading some more of "Darke" - a truly memorable book.


One of our neighbours, a widow living on her own, had a blockage in one of her drains. As I went outside to take some items to the recycling bin, I saw her with the manhole covers up and trying to free the blockage with taped together bamboo sticks. I went to get my drain rods, only to remember that I had lent them to a neighbour who has now moved away, taking them with her. Another fine mess! Another fine mess" However, we eventually managed to free the obstruction after a good deal of effort, and tomorrow I will but a set of new drain rods, costing 23 from B & Q.

It was raining heavily in the morning yet again in this terrible drought the Meteorological Office keeps telling us about, far too wet to go into town on the scooter so I went by car instead to buy a "Times", now having gone back to this newspaper as I find the left-wing bias f the "i" so difficult to accept, the rest of the day being spent at home.

As might be expected, letters in "The Times" were highly critical of Osborne taking on the editorship of a London newspaper, as well as working for an investment company in addition to continuing as a Member of Parliament. I gather that he is likely to lose his Parliamentary seat as a result of forthcoming constituency boundaries so thank heavens for that. Failed politicians are hired by firms not for their expertise, but for their valuable connections. Osborne, with his sneery manner, must have been one of the mist disliked Chancellors.

As always, I have put in the photograph of the nude lass holding a lamb by way of marking the first day of Spring. I invariably receive some criticism from women, saying that the depiction is sexist and politically incorrect, but it is a nice picture of the happy-looking lamb. Photograph courtesy of the Welsh Vegetarian Society, who would never want to eat the lamb.


The first day of Spring. Tradionally, I always put in this delightful photograph of the lamb, invariably receiving criticism from the narrow-minded fraternity.

During the morning I spent some time sorting out my finances, paying for the road fund licence for the Scorpio (half-year 129.25 - I only tax it for 6 months, giving me the option to dispose of the vehicle), fortunately paying my cheque at a post office in Lincoln. I also have to pay the insurance on the scooter 115,55, which I will pay on-line. It has been an expensive time lately.

It seems so sad that the Liberal Democrats are not in the real world, a bunch of airy-fairy politicians who are hopelessly out of date, having failed to notice that the world has moved on. According to a report on the BBC news website, Tim Farron, who is apparently the leader of the party, has likened the politics of Mrs. May to President Trump, accusing her of "aggressive nationalism", and being bitterly opposed to a hard Brexit,

The point is that this country and America has managed to get into a really fine mess, meaning that strong government in the form of Trump and May is needed, even if this means nationalism and protectionism, to get out of the mire. It is a wake-up call for both countries, after years of weak and spineless leadership that lost its way in its muddled liberalism.

There are reports that President Trump is hoping to formulate better relationships with China, and this seems to be a sensible policy coming from a President who understands the needs of the business community that is now firmly supporting him, the Dow Jones index having reached a record high. So much for all those nasty moaners who continue to work against the President, failing to understand that he had a magnificent victory in the Electoral College 303 against that woman's pathetic 236 - and the Electoral College is part of the American constitution that the lily-livered fraternity are always championing.

A correspondent referred me to an Internet site that maintained that Britain could have won the Second World War without the help of the Americans, the point being made that "It would have been more difficult, and taken longer, but yes, the allies could have beat the Axis if the US had not stepped in. Most of the heavy lifting against Germany during WW2 was done by the Soviets - 4 out of every 5 Germans killed in the war died on the Eastern Front, and the Soviets were well on their way to winning the war on their own before US aid arrived in meaningful quantities"

What the author does not understand is that without American intervention, Russia would have swept right through Europe, creating a massive empire that we on our own could never have dealt with. Churchill realised this, and seriously proposed attacking Russia, but wiser counsels prevailed. In other words, the contention that we could have won without America is just sheer nonsense, even by the standards of revisionist historians.

Our two daughters went to London last Saturday saying what a horribly crowded and unpleasant place it was, many of the streets having those ignorant protesters shouting and bawling their slogans out in a most unpleasant manner. What dreafful people they are, who will no doubt be out in force when President Trump arrives on a state visit towards the end of this year. It should be an opportunity for some truncheon thumping practice by the police who have the task of controlling these rude and ignorant people.

Our daughters had a meal at The Shard, saying that the tables were horribly close together, and there was a time limit on the meal. It made our daughters appreciate having a very much better life here in Lincolnshire that still retains a degree of Englishness in the wide open spaces and the lack of population pressure that is seen so horribly down south.

We have yet another fault on our BT landline. On reporting the trouble it was confirmed that there was a fault, and that I would be kept informed of the progress of the repair by text to my mobile telephone. We had a similar fault only 17 days ago. What a country, everything seeming to be falling apart - and this has nothing to do with Brexit.

After a fairly relaxed day, the evening was spent by the fireside, reading some more of the novel "Darke". Several pages are devoted to his wife painfully dying of cancer, making for somewhat grim reading, but generally I am greatly enjoying the book.

On going to bed, noticed that there was a large, hard lump by my left groin, probably measuring 4 inches, though not at all painful. Inevitably, I looked up on the Internet, seeing that it was probably a hernia, the recommendation being that I should urgently see a doctor, something I am reluctant to do, though I suppose hernias can be cured.


With the groin lump still very obvious, I went at 8 a.m. to the NHS walk-in centre in Lincoln, knowing that I could never get an appointment to see a doctor. It is an excellent service, initially having a blood and oxygen tests. The blood pressure was 141/76, which the nurse said was good for my age, as was the oxygen count at 98%, anything over 95% being satisfactory. I was then examined by an English male doctor, who said he thought the condition was serious, and that I needed an urgent appointment with my GP. He did not know what the trouble was.

He therefore wrote me a note to the doctor's practice, but on going to the surgery I was told that there were no appointments today, but there was a system whereby I would be telephoned on my mobile telephone by a doctor who would see what action was necessary. I duly received a call and was told to come in right away, which I did, though the Indian female doctor dod not know what it was, even when another doctor was called.

However I was given a letter to take to the SAUM department at the County Hospital, where I was given a bed for the rest of the day after being assese by two doctors and the taking of a blood test and blood pressure, the latter all right. There is the possibility of lymph cancer, but I have to wait for a scan,

There was the good news that Mrs. May is to trigger Brexit on the 29th March, so we are on the road to coming out of that beastly Union. I believe it was Edward Heath who took us in, and now we have the struggle to free ourselves from Mrs. Merkel, Hollande and Juncker. What a relief it will be to get away from those nasty people, the 23rd June being regarded as our "Independence Day", regaining our sovereignty and being able to decide our own affairs without having to bow to Mrs. Merkel. Trebles all round, as they say in "Private Eye".


Camelia in the garden. Alas, so soon gone.

In hospital from 1 a.m. No computer available


A miserable night at the hospital in a general ward, noisy and unpleasant. Fortunately, I had taken some sleeping tablets, which kept me to sleep until 5a .m. As there was no likelihood of a scan today, I went home on the understanding that I will return at 8 p.m. this evening. It would seem that I have Hodgkin's cancer, having several of the sympos. It is the waiting for the result that is so awful.


The Armstrong Whitworth Whitley Mk.V that I am now making from a kit. Not the most successful of bombers, only flying at a ceiling of 15,000 ft, making it very vulnerable with a full bombload.

I don't feel like writing anything today, feeling very miserable, still having to wait for a scan. Alas, how quickly life can change. One minute you are going along nicely, and then - bang.


In hospital all day
Modern life

Modern life. Item sent to me by a reader.

In hospital

Additional note for Friday 24th March.

Cancer in several places diagnosed. Please no communications at this stage - have now gone home, in pain after biopsy.

E-mail: johncopeland@clara.net
Comments welcomed
Lincolnshire 23rd March, 2017
No. 995

Only another 5 to go to the 1,000th edition, which will mark the end of the diary and my days of computing.

Diary of an Octogenarian<BR>

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