Having spent yesterday getting joyously blotto in a friend’s back garden, on the hottest day of summer so far, surrounded by people who were also getting quite irresponsible on Pimms (google is dangerous when strong drink has been taken, as are multiple smartphones, natural curiosity, and an unfortunate turn of conversation regarding the mating habits of pandas. I also learnt what a unicorn chaser is, and quite how much I would need one. All we had was Pimms. Which is exactly why I have a headache today), I did not spend this morning composing the long straightened explanation of Dr Expensive’s Better Living By Chemistry experiment.
This evening, I am not composing it either because I have just found out that Trouble has become so unhappy and unable to cope she voluntarily admitted herself to a clinic. This is on an ‘unexpected’ par with Ben Goldacre announcing he has become Brian Cox’s personal homeopath. Trouble has always regarded Psychology as a heap of nonsense, and has always been bright enough to run rings round any counsellor she ever was nagged into seeing, which never exactly enhanced her respect for the profession. So, err, well. Golly.
(I knew Trouble was, well, troubled. It didn’t seem my story to tell, so I didn’t tell it. It’s one thing bitching sisterly-fashion about our differences (and she has eight-bazillion perfectly justified anecdotes of her own about The Many Ways In Which May Is Tiresome), and quite another to discuss her demons for her).
I don’t know what to think about anything at the moment, so I shan’t think anything about anything except my plan to get my GP re-prescribe me at least some of the medication at NHS prices.
P.S. – Minx is being doted on by relations for a while. So I needn’t panic about that.