We have just got back from our friend's funeral. It was lovely, as far as these things go - a Humanist ceremony in the Community Centre and then a green-field burial up the road.
We then went to see a house that we saw on the internet this morning and thought might be suitable for us. It is in the next village, it is a reasonable price and it has a nice garden. The owners are lovely.
But they asked me straight out what our own situation was with where we are living now. And I told them. I find lying really hard - I abhor it, I am bad at it and I don't think it brings you any good in the long run.
B is angry with me.
What could I have done? I just don't know what to do.
I am so tired. B is so tired.
The chickens have Mycoplasma and I am probably going to have to cull them; although it's apparently endemic in small flocks I can't board them out to anyone else knowing that they are carriers. And it's looking unlikely that we will find a place to stay that we can take them to.
It is raining. Tonight, I want to drink until I can't think any more, whilst cutting my arms.