Off the Cliff

Old age is when you can wrench your knee while lying in bed, which I seem to have done this morning. Walked to massage on it but taxi'd back because massage, as ever, makes things worse before it makes them better. Shall try a brace on it tomorrow though it's the knee that doesn't like braces. But it kept me from going out to lunch where I would have had a Cosmo or two, and french fries or rather frites with my main, and probably tiramisu for dessert. Saved from the evil to come. Though not for long: my former coworker who bakes is coming over tomorrow night with cookies and a pound cake, intended for various next doors, but I have never been able to resist A's cookies and half my next doors are currently away.

My Mrs. Bradley reading turns up a chiller whose first third is half Wicker Man and half Midsomer. Though now Mrs. Bradley has been called in, it appears things will default to the usual murder investigation. But there may be more weirdness yet.