I think Sunday night must be the most treacherous of half-term. Because its the slowest of them all. The dim light of Monday ahead in a dank tunnel. The weak glow glimpses normality and the house back to myself.
Its not just me tho' that is so ill-humoured, o my brothers. The kids are bored and burnt out. Though it is the last thing they'd admit, they really do need the routine of school. And Husband, well, he just gets on my tits.
I've got my little trouble back. Thats the trouble, if you see what I mean. A dreadful and painful swelling " downstairs". I think its related to the World Cup. Because I had this little trouble in 1990, especially during that grudge match and penalty shootout with Germany. I felt England's agony - quite literally.
Tho' it could, of course, just be cystitis. Anyway, would help if they could all sod off! And what is it with this heat shit????
Do you think smoking fags is a good cure for cystits? I do. Along with a cappucinno, beer and wine? Those are the cures I would subscribe from my private clinic in Hounslow.
Showing posts with label downstairs problems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label downstairs problems. Show all posts
Sunday, 6 June 2010
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