Going swimming again at 7. The girls have pulled out. So they’re saved the trouble of having to pretend like they’re not with Mr. Bozo who’s flapping around like a puppy on acid. I just had a Joey-tribute sandwich, Italian meatballs (as opposed to the original Fijian ones, I suppose) in a rich tomato sauce with ‘mozarella’ (processed ordinary) cheese. After washing it down with a thick chocolate milkshake, I fear I have only added to my bone-density problems, especially around my midriff (I know there are no bones there except for the lumbar bones) which is why, I presume, I don’t float so well. Or at all.