Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 18

Who could fail to be inspired on such a beautiful day? For a few brief glorious hours we bathed in warm sunshine. The washing blew pleasingly on the line and all was well with the world. I heaved my rather peculiar mannequin out of the shed and proceeded to photograph her in various cool knits. Perhaps I wasn't concentrating hard enough, perhaps the sun was too bright, but when I looked at them all later they were possibly the worst set of pictures of my preloved clothes I have ever taken. It didn't help that the model's bust hung out in every shot. Undeterred I posted them up anyway, concluding life to be too short to start dressing/undressing her all over again. 

After lunch I force myself to put on my walking boots, reckoning we won't have this weather again for a long while. As I look up at the sky I see a very ominous black cloud in the distance but persevere. The little voice in my head tells me that all I really want to do is go home. I got across a couple of fields after wading through an awful lot of mud and bumped into a couple of people I know. One of them had recently suffered a heart attack, despite looking remarkably well. She told me she walked everyday, didn't drink, eat meat or indulge in any other of the vices known to cause heart attacks. I was more than ready to turn around and go home by this point and it was as well I did, for the moment I got to front door, it started to rain. When 'The Undertaker' came home I relayed my encounter to him with a long glum face. He said I was the biggest hypochondriac known to man and he was off to get a bottle of gin to enjoy being 'off call'. 

A strange spot has appeared on my chest. I wouldn't normally dream of divulging this sort of intimate information, but I feel we are getting to know each other quite well now. Even 'The Undertaker' suggested I 'seek advice' as it had started to itch quite badly. Eventually, after not taking advice, I force him to look at the offending area (by now quite red), under a magnifying glass.  I feel quite glum I admit. He pulls a face and ums and ahs. Straightening himself up he pronounces it to be nothing more than a spider bite, a rather nasty one at that. I am mortified at the thought of a spider being all over my chest and heaven knows where else, without my knowledge. I feel quite queasy. 

'I'm going to have a hot bath and you can bring me a stiff gin' I say. 'I didn't get any gin' he says, 'you told me not to'. Since when did he start taking any notice of what I said? How did this personality change slip under my radar unnoticed?