A REAL new post!

I am in Salusbury Hospital yet again. I have spent a long time in here this year and it is mostly boring. So the other night when I couldn't sleep I decided to undraft the blogs that I had made drafts when somebody had upset me and I took them all down.

Unfortunately they didn't reblog as their original dates but as today or yesterday or whenever, which of course makes sense.

I've enjoyed rereading them and the comments, but they were written by a different person in a different life who was covering up a world of pain.

Even though I say it myself I made quite a convincing job of it, didn't I?

Now, though, I have been given an ultimatum by the fine Drs; die or get better. Unfortunately the latter is beyond the current remit of the beleaguered NHS so my other option is to succumb. My lovely oncologist and Dr Dreamy her side kick estimate maybe two weeks to a couple of months. I won't tell you how long ago the two weeks were but I'm still here and how I wish I could go home.

Other than not feeling remotely ready, or even ill enough I'm really a tad concerned about the whole damn process and still can't believe it's happening to me.

The lovely Z and the lovely Mig, old blogging chums are coming to see me, and my lovely, lovely daughters for whom things are much harder than for me, zip about the county holding everything together.

I wonder what I'd be doing today if I wasn't in here and didn't know?

going against the grain

...the majority of bloggers I read are slowly, or indeed fastly, stopping - blogging is old hat and the more immediate platforms of Facebook and Twitter have taken their place. Either that or people have found a life away from the small screen.

I quite like reading Tweets and I quite like Fb - but the fact that anything you say is pushed in the faces of the poor unfortunates who are your 'friends' or 'followers' makes me uncomfortable.  I prefered it when people had to come to you to see if you had anything to say because then it was their choice and you couldn't be accused of boring them senseless with your constant drivel, d'you know what I mean?

So as a purveyor of drivel, if you're reading this then it's your own fault.

When I wasn't blogging, I wasn't having a life instead; I was having a problem and it hasn't gone away yet.

After my operation

match made in heaven

The Royal Wedding of Himself’s sister is tomorrow.

Himself has gone to pick up his children and his dressing-up suit.

He is not in a good mood.

He has phoned me to say that he has had an ear-bashing from Moaning Myrtle, his ex. She wanted to go and is massively annoyed that there has been no relinquishing in the lack of invitation headed her way. You’d think he’d be used to it by now. The woman is skilled beyond the measure of a very (very) skilled person at moaning and inciting guilt and emotional blackmail and using her children to control the whole world including the bit that you’re living in. You just may not have realised that it’s her. Sometimes the thought of having to put up with her for at least the next 10 years (until the youngest is 18) is too much to contemplate. It wasn’t me that foolishly married her and then compounded the error by impregnating her. Anyway I digress. The wedding. The amount that Himself’s mother has spent on this shindig is obscene. Both parties are in full time professional work, are in their 30s, own their own property and are well off. And yet the widowed mother, on a limited income, is footing the bill, all the bill. The excuse is that she must because this is her girl-child. I think (but it’s not my family so obviously I can’t say anything, just moan on here) (sorry), that in these days of equality, that people wanting to get hitched should fund it themselves, if either set of parents (or anyone else for that matter!) wants to contribute and can afford it, then it can be graciously accepted. But to expect thousands upon thousands (upon thousands) of pounds to be spent on one frigging day is appalling. And a waste. Especially as no-one wants to be there anyway. They’re just family not people you’d choose to spend time with. This stupid woman (the bride) spent an age moaning to me that she’ll have to go back to work if / when she has a baby because they can’t afford (oh pur - lease) for her to stay at home. Now go back to work if you have to, if you want to, but don’t complain when you could have spent a couple of years at home with your child but instead chose to blow a fortune on one day pratting around looking like a over-priced meringue.

As you can tell we’re all so looking forward to it.

I won’t be posting pictures.

warning!

To mothers of small sons . . .I know it's fashionable but don't put your small son in wide legged boxers on school days.

I met two little girls giggling uproariously in the corner of the corridor. They were watching a PE lesson in the hall.

"What's all this noise, what are you laughing about?" I asked.

Serious amounts of snorting and gasping and then one said,
"Look, look Miss, they're going to do it again!" Followed by squeals of laughter and "Josh's is the tiniest!"


So I looked and the children were lying on the floor making star shapes. . .


As I said, don't put your little boys in wide legged boxers, it's untidy!

speaking native

mountain goat

mineret!

harbour

shopping is interesting