When she awoke from her dream, he was gone.

Good Friday. 6.00 pm: So, there was I, in A&E (again), having seen the out-of-hours GP earlier, anticipating an ECG and a blood test. During the day, when I’d undertaken a major spring-clean of my studio and study, my blood pressure began to spike (again) and I experienced mild discomfort in my upper chest, neck, and arms. Those symptoms were enough to ring the alarm bells. As I waited at the hospital, a woman who had been bitten by her cat, which had brought three rats into the house, entered feeling feverish. She was followed by a distraught mother carrying a far more distraught child in a blanket. (The joys of pet ownership and parenthood.)

Bronglais Hospital is exemplary. I was seen immediately. The tests were clear or, at the very least, inconclusive. I’d have to under go further examinations in the future. Something is amiss. (My instinct tells me so.) I’m not overweight, eat healthily, exercise, have a reasonable cholesterol level, and don’t drink or smoke. However, many men in my family have died of heart failure and comparatively young (that’s to say, a few years older than I’m presently.) So, I’ve no grounds for complacency.

Saturday. Following the physicians’ orders, I rested up while periodically Googling my condition (a practice that should be undertaken advisedly) and, in particular, the side effects of the new medication, which I’d been prescribed a few weeks ago. I may be onto something. Sunday. The Easter morning service was not going to happen for me. A profound tiredness dogged me. But I savoured my splendid isolation at home. Easter booty:

I’ve a penchant for expensive as well as cheapy chocolate. I suspect that the latter connects me to my youth via the taste buds. Most of it is unhealthy, but the same makes me happy nevertheless. There’s more to life than physical well-being.

Today. A slow and deliberate movement into and through the morning. Reflection and contemplation were the focal activities. An extended communion. Mid morning, I took up my Custom Crimson RF guitar, and gave it some TLC. Lemon oil to the fretboard:

The process of cleaning restores both the guitar and the guitarist. I rested and thought in between bouts of activity. Should I go for a bridge upgrade on this guitar? It’s the only guitar that I own which has evolved over the years. The instrument has been adapted to changing requirements. On, then, with the Godin Freeway – a model of guitar that I first saw in the hands of John McLaughlin: