I’ve had three emails from Dad today – all about my tax return. Nothing about his trip to the GP. Suspect this means that I don’t actually need to worry, but, still, I worry. Worry. Worry. Being woken by someone else’s alarm at 5.45am did not help matters.
Plus the tax return had things in the wrong box, so apparently I don’t get a rebate (why? I’ve been paying tax on rent that I didn’t get ‘cos Jo moved out earlier than anticipated). Sigh.
On the plus side, I ran up Primrose Hill in my second fastest time this evening, and we think we’re going to do the Rome Marathon if my GP will sign me off (I have no idea if he’ll be difficult or not. He was unconvinced last time I needed a letter to go overseas, but this is a proper form, so should be more straightforward. If costly).