The Crimson Menace/ Red Brigade has turned up in gigantic hobnailed boots and is clattering up and down on my belly as we speak.
Co-codamol is quite good at taking the edge off. This is wonderful beyond description.
I spent the whole day at work Managing and Supervising, on half-doses of said wonderful co-codamol, because I needed my brain, so while not rolling on the floor whimpering and pea-green in the face, I was not the world’s happiest little management hamster either. God, I hate menstruating.
Eventually, I told work, very firmly, that they’d had their share of blood, sweat and tears (tee hee! me so funny) out of me for the week and if they were exceedingly lucky, they’d see me on Thursday, but I doubted they’d be exceedingly lucky, and I sincerely hoped that the chaos would all be over by the time I returned on Friday, as I was done. And done in. And double HAH to the lot of them.
As I was staggering home, H texted me to warn me that the new neighbours (the house next door to us has been empty for a few months) have arrived. They have push-chairs. And sand-pits. And a potted palm.
I texted H back: ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’
‘I must confess I thought something similar,’ he answered.
‘Bitter McTwisted rides again.’
Not our finest moment.