Well ladies, you'll be pleased to hear that after all this time away I am constipated. That's right, not a stool in sight. The internet says I should drink citrus juices, and after choking down the juice of two limes and a lemon all mixed up in a big jug of fortified wine, there is no joy, whereby joy is a word interchangable with poo. This proves, conclusively I believe, that the internet is a cad. Aaaand an oaf.

The end date for my prison-esque office job loomed but alas, my replacement had a death in her family and this has delayed matters somewhat. I finish on June 30th. Oh rapture! Oh poo! I can't wait. Then I go work with skanger kids, teaching them to sing rousing and jolly songs when they'd rather be off smoking heroin or whatever it is inner city eight year-olds get up to. In the midst of these teaching duties, I escape to London with betamaxnomates for a week, where we will eat deep fried Mars bars and talk to the locals in fake antagonising Brit accents. At all times. During this July period, K will be in Ukraine, selling pots with bottoms in them to local impoverisheds. Also, L will be moving in with me, thus providing relief from her wacko parents and company for me. Wahey! I do hate to cook just for one. After the skangers and the London, the future is wide open. We are moving house soon and K is changing jobs. Meanwhile I get depressed about my lack of tangible skills and K gets frustrated at my lack of tangible cop on. I will be scouring job sites in the hope of finding my vocation. It seems about as hopeful as roaming Copper Faced Jacks on a Monday night in search of a decent husband.

Speaking of all things husband, I was at a wedding yesterday. In the north. Where they don't get to have a smooch in the church! Odd indeed. The marrieds are extremely good friends and many a tear was shed. I sang Rutter's A Clare Benediction for them in the service, which is basically a blessing, and I hardly got a decent note out for all the emotion. Tsk. But more is to come, weddingly! K's sister hitches next Saturday, and then Ange and Gav are following suit at the end of July. Yowzers. And I am singing at them all, which is nice, but a touch stressful. Let's hope I get a poo out by then. I am reminded of those hideous Senokot ads where a stupid woman pours plate after plate of food into her handbag. WHY YOU DOIN THAT MARY? Seems like a half solution to constipation if ever I saw one. But back to the weddings. In a swoop of economic genius, I have purchased one outfit to last me through them all. I always was a resourceful child. There was the time my cousin and I had a tea-party in the bathroom, and in the absence of cakes, we ate soap and drank bathwater.

Anyway after all my singing, dancing and drinking free wine, I need to sleep. I will start updating more frequently*, I promise.

neuro-praxis -- Won't Date You Cos She's Your Boss

*not a guarantee