The World According To Me

My little sister has gone home after her two-day visit. My animals are sad, especially Lucy who by the second morning had learned to wake her "Aunty Dell" with a big kiss. Yes, I'm sad. But Lucy's sadder, and I take comfort in that. It was a little bit nice having someone else in the house, I came home from work yesterday and all my washing had been done, hung out, bought in and folded. My kitchen floor and the floor of the sunroom were swept. A little less on my list o' things to do.

I am gearing up for the long weekend. Most notably on Thursday night I have a long overdue appointment with my hairdresser. Thank the sweet Lord for that. I haven't had my mop attended to for nigh on 4 months, because I am a broken and poor woman and also because I have been caring a little less about the mess on my head. The layers have grown out, the colour has grown out and I am left with what is ostensibly a curly long triangle of tresses with blaring grey hairs peeking out rudely. I am very much looking forward to having a lot less volume and a nice shiny colour, then I can spend Friday through to Monday swishing and admiring my cut in the mirror and marvel at being able to get a brush through it. Whilst I'm on the subject, what the fuck is up with grey hair? I started going grey at the tender age of 23 after the dramas that occurred with Operation Boob Reduction, it has been put down to my body going into shock when I haemorrhaged, but still. Why are the grey hairs always like a brillo pad? Why can't they grow and sit nicely like the other normal hairs, not drawing attention to themselves and just waiting to be dyed as opposed to being ridiculously thick and wiry and pokey up? Boooo to grey hair.

Now, has everyone made arrangements to go to this show? Good, I knew I could rely on you people. See you there on Friday. There'll probably only be 6 audience members so it'll be nice and cosy and we can chat afterwards.

Operation Get Off My Fat Arse hasn't really gone anywhere, I'm ashamed to admit. Apart from the 32 minutes of netball I played on Monday night I really have done fuck all. Those 32 minutes were tough though, I had to completely relearn how to catch, move, pass and shoot all over again. I joked with my team-mates that my pre-season training had comprised solely of reaching for the remote, and sadly this is not far from the truth. Must do better.

Also having been enjoying Wilfred very much. The most clever show I have seen in a long time.