Checking in, from Glossop in Derbyshire. Apologies for long absence, most of it nothing to do with COVID-19. Just before Christmas, I went to the doctors' for an annual checkup. When I went back for the results, they used the C-word (and they were not swearing). They rushed matters a bit after that, and I found nyself in hospital for a big operation in the first week in February.

I had a couple of setbacks during recovery, and was kept in the surgical ward for six weeks. While I was in hospital, my little brother arranged for my house to be reconstructed. This was a job I had been preparing and budgeting for for a couple of years, but my brother precipitated events. When I was discharged, the house was still largely a building site, so I stayed with my brother and sister-in-law for a few weeks. I am now back at home, but as a member of several vulnerable groups as defined by the government, I am still effectively in Purdah.

There is another operation to go, but I am well enough otherwise. The only drawback in the DVLC (Driver and Vehicle Licensing Centre, in Swansea), who are refusing to let me drive until I have had an eyesight test, which cannot be arranged for at least twelve weeks. Quite what part of Health and Safety guidelines equates the loss of several inches of large intestine with potentially defective vision is not clear to me, but I promise to be good and leave the car alone for a bit.

I have lost two friends over the last three months, but to old age rather than any pathogen.