Oh shit, the vet gave Pat the verdict on Murphy. As bad as her worst fears, he'll be drugged up now until his last days and not long for those either. Can't believe her bad luck, especially as no horse has been looked after better.

It's a sunny day but somehow it should be raining. I've abandoned work for now, can't get in the mood. Instead it's lager and Vangelis (Oceanic) and moping. Have cashed in BT shares and I think once it's all over Pat and I will go off for some time away. Maybe Centerparcs, always a good refuge for us. I'll take the iPad and see if it really is any use for working with by itself.

Maybe I'll cut the grass. Feel I should do something. Why is writing this shit cathartic? It's meaningless, I never look back over it, I avoid putting anything other than surface thoughts and sanitised ones at that. Baffling really. But I feel better having done it no matter how thin and unappetising it is.