H and I are on holiday. Sort of. We both booked two weeks off work, and decided what we needed to do was stay at home, visit all the museums and art galleries and events we had been meaning to visit for months, and maybe eat too much. It was a good plan.
Things that went right:
- We did get to go to a rock concert, which was colossally good and that I thoroughly enjoyed despite the Angry Uterus and being wheeeee on codeine (why does it affect me so strongly? Why?) and being sat before a row of yattering parakeets who so very urgently needed to discuss Jolene’s date with Frankie and why MarySue is a silly bitch very loudly because, hey, you’ve only paid £75 each to see the concert, and whoever bothers listening to guitar solos anyway? (No, I’m not bitter, why do you ask?)
- We did go to The Great Big Amazing Gardens and wander about them in the sunshine, chatting with family (see, now this is the correct venue for cheery gossip) and considering the lilies of the field. It was a very nice day out.
- We also had a good day out at a sort of Arts Festival, and a good day out at the Tate Modern (one of the more excellent galleries in London, also vast, also also free, even if the tea-and-cake is definitely not), and a fantastic visit to the British Library, who are having a Science Fiction season, the exhibition thereof being fascinating, well cool, and, yes, free. Good golly, but I do love London so.
- There were some rather jolly brunches out, and patisserie got involved at some point, also pizza and ice-cream, so we managed the ‘eating too much’ bit.
- I bought some dresses and boots over the internet, and lo and behold they came, they fitted, and they conquered. H particularly likes the blue dress, and I look nearly as cute in the green dress, and the boots (zips and buckles and and laces, oh my!) are kick-ass. My mama gave me a birthday check and orders to update my rather scruffy jeans-and-long-sleeved-tees wardrobe, you see. So I did.
On the other hand:
- I got my period on my birthday. I have nothing to add to this point. Regular readers will understand.
- Having ‘gotten over’ the menstruating, which in my case takes some getting over, I promptly got a foul and painful cold, which seems to be mostly giving my poor little sinuses a battering. I have gone through the red-raw throat stage, the runny nose and fever stage, and am now in the blocked-solid face-ache and sneezing stage, with snot. It’s June. It’s warm and sunny outside. Bastard son of a bastard’s bastard bastard.
- Concomittant with the tail-end of the period and the onset of the cold, a massive insomnia jag. I have not slept for more than four hours in a row for over a week. I am getting a tad weird. Part of it may be reckless imbibement of anti-congestants (phenylephrine can cause insomnia. Really? A drug related to amphetamines can make you too wired to sleep? Who knew? May, you fool). The rest? Eh, I am sad about several of my friends, internet and standard issue, and I worry about them, and then I worry about me and my aging eggs of crap, and it’s all so much worry I need to stay awake to do it properly. Stupid habit, given that it helps no one.
- Moth infestation. Oh, it’s not just us, it’s a UK-wide thing this year. So that’s alright then. (Also, H had a mind-numbing conversation with his mother, who phoned us up at Hello-Campers-o’clock this morning to let us know How To Deal With Moth, and to which H merely said ‘we’ve done that’ in tones of weary despair seventeen times in a row before he was allowed to say ‘love you too’ and put the phone down. Seriously, folks, we’ve done that. I’ll let you know if we’ve won in a couple of months’ time (natural life-cycle of Evil Tiny Wool-Fucking Bastards, 21 days)).
- And this morning H, who has been fine so far, woke up feeling sick and stomach-achey. He’s now playing snooker on his iPad while looking pale, red-eyed and pathetic, and he doesn’t want to eat anything, which in H terms means, I think, that he has the Bubonic Plague. Oh fucking hurrah.
I go back to work on Monday. I’m almost relieved.