I’m on holiday! Hurrah!
I’ve been on holiday for a couple of days already, really, but I had to go into work this morning to finish an excrutiatingly boring project (and be nit-picked into fragments by my boss, who I part adore, part endure), so now I am really on holiday. For a week. Double hurrah and lashings of ginger beer!
H is doing Something Artistic tomorrow, and I shall be there as Proud Wife and, if he’s lucky, Sex-Mad Groupie. All the family, his and mine, will be there as well, and then we’re ALL going to my mother’s house for the weekend, so I shall no doubt have to be a Stealth Sex-Mad Groupie. I’m on such a mellow at the moment this makes me feel teenagerish and giggly rather than middle-aged and irritable. Go me!
And then we shall go to Cornwall for a few days for our annual B&B Cooked Breakfast and Hiking Extravaganza.
On a grumpier note, the Acne Extravaganza on my chin continues unabated. And I have a fringe festival of zittery trailing down my neck and chest from the main venue. The fuck, face? I’m 37 in May. I have three grey hairs and crows’ feet. And acne? Just to remind me I actually do still have PCOS, even if it has become so very not the main focus of anything at all in my life, what with the RPL and the Regular(ish) Menstruation of Exquisite Anguish. And there I was labouring under the clearly idiotic belief that losing a tadlet of weight would cheer my hormones up. Why is it then that every time I lose a little weight everything goes haywire for six weeks?
Anyway. I shall now eat a lot of bacon and yomp over a lot of hills in big boots (me, not the hills). I have no idea if blogging will happen, as though the B&B we have picked boasts wifi in the rooms, we have Weltschmertz and we know that this usually means intermittently, and only when sitting on the ensuite toilet cistern.