The light-headedness continues, though much reduced. It's worst in the morning, presumably because I haven't eaten or drunk anything for about 12 hours. So I move slowly and hang onto the bannister on the stairs.

For the record, Gatorade Zero will never be a favoured tipple.

My garage is neat again, after an orgy of box-flattening and disposal of packing material that I could neither recycle not re-use. The debris of the busted-up Waterford, plus the inadequate packing material that came with it, cost me a whole garbage tag. Not that I'm bitter ... okay, maybe a touch.

My brother Andrew proposes a drinking game for viewing the Democratic Party Convention: Every time somebody says "weird", down a shot. Your liver will not be happy.