Not much going on in Stratford, now that the ground floor is just about finished (only the kitchen tile to go, and that is scheduled). My lung complaint is gradually ebbing, currently down to occasional coughing fits that still sound awful but don't leave me reeling with exhaustion as they did two weeks ago.

I went back to the gym on Friday for a full workout, and boy did I feel it on Saturday. Every muscle in my legs, butt and back had criticism to offer, which tells me that I need to do that workout again today, and on Wednesday, and on Friday, too.

Himself is looking particularly fine these days, after almost four months of watching his diet and working out vigorously. He's lost almost 25 pounds and is back into his snazziest suits; the new one he bought last summer now hangs on him like a tent. The gym staff are so impressed with him that they just about offered him a job, on the theory that if the flabby old guys see an fit old guy behind the counter, they might be a little less reluctant to sign up.

I'm looking a bit gaunt, myself, having lost my jowls and a full size in trousers to the pneumonia. I thought I had come to terms with advancing age, but it's still always a bit of a shock to look at myself in the mirror and see the same lines on my face that I remember on my granny.