Still suffering with a knackered back. It's one of the consequences of being too tall (6 inches above average for the British female) and a fat bastard to boot.
I think it's also a consequence of too many hours on a very uncomfortable bus last week, and 8 hours in the car last weekend to and from London. And the trip into town on the train on Wednesday didn't help a lot, either.
Whatever the cause, it's bloody painful and very annoying. I hate that feeling when the painkillers have almost worn off but it's to soon to take the next lot. I am alternating between lying on the floor complaining, walking round the house complaining and sitting at my PC, not complaining till I try to stand up, when I go "Ouch, fuck it" a lot.
It's been a crap week workwise, one way and another. Still, I have most of next week booked as holiday because Mr WithaY's Mum is visiting from France for a bit (she's not French though, so she is allowed in the house).
Going into town tomorrow to get a much needed haircut, and to have a confidential chat with my hairdresser about my encroaching greyness. Mr WithaY and I may also take a jaunt to the pictures, depending on what's on. I love going to see films on the big screen.
Also need to get some gardening done - there is a "Sleeping Beauty" stylee bramble encroachment going on at the side of the house that is threatening to take over completely. Trouble is, it's been so wet and miserable that I have had no inclination to get out there with my secateurs and trug and get on with it. Yes, I have a trug. Doesn't everyone?
I took up badgerdaddy's suggestion and opened up a Photobucket account, and am planning on trying to post some pictures on here before too much longer. They won't be very exciting, but there will be cake. And that's a promise.
Oh yeah, was listeining (under sufferance) to the local shit radio station this morning. The shrill female sidekick was wittering on about the fact that she was going to be performing at a local festival with Nick Harper. And she had no fucking idea who he is. Gah.
I saw him a few years ago at Salisbury Arts Centre (a fab local venue for a wide variety of bands) and he was excellent. Far better than his mad old dad Roy, in fact, who he was supporting.
Anyway, this dippy bint was saying "Ooh, I Googled him this morning! He's quite famous!"
Yes, far more so than you are ever likely to be I imagine. Now fuck off and read the weather report. Badly. Like you usually do.