Well, back last night actually, but too knackered to blog!

Polperro is SO pretty - if my numbers ever come up I would seriously consider buying a cottage there. You’d need a lottery win too, a tiny two bedroom property would set you back the best part of £250k. I dread to think what the gorgeous yellow house up on the hill overlooking the harbour & coastthat I fell in love with would set you back.

Anyway, a luffly time was had by us both, good food (and too much of it), good company (nice people in the b&b) and nice animals (met lots of nice dogs, but not a single cat in sight!). To compensate for the latter, my cat ornament collection has increased by 4 I also bought a small pine corner wall unit which we’ll eventually get around to putting up. I nearly bought a painting, but reined myself in in time!!

*goes off to check lottery numbers, just in case*

Yes, I know my birthday isn’t until August, but seeing as it’s the important F-word birthday, my luvverly husband has decided that I’m to have a birthday treat each month

January was the spa day, February was our weekend in Southampton, and today was…a trip to the hairdressers! And some pretty shades of copper and honey added to my barnet (hides the straggly grey hairs really well!)

If you’re expecting a great unveiling at the HBA Conference in Blackpool this weekend, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed - because we ain’t going! It’ll be the first conference I’ve missed since Autumn ‘93, but it’s all got a bit political & heavy lately, and we decided we’d rather amuse ourselves somewhere else. We’ll be down the other end of the country, spending a couple of days in Polperro, Cornwall.

So, what with the pub quiz tomorrow evening, bloggage is suspended until Sunday night. Be good!

These new pain killers are gooooooooood……

Back to the Pain Management Clinic this morning, and it would appear that I’ve got nerve impingement pain in my neck.

Bloody physio!

So they decided to go straight in with the Botox injection therapy - except it’s not injection singular, oh no! Today I had 9 - NINE - injections across my shoulders and into my neck, and I’ve been given a morphine-like anti-inflammatory called Tramadol to help control the pain, which is a deeply unpleasant burning ache right in the back of my neck. It’ll hopefully kick in a bit quicker than the Botox, which could take around 4 weeks to start working properly.

I’m thinking of re-naming this blog Junkie Jen…

Well, very nearly. I have my February pay check and will be outside the bank tomorrow morning when they open to pay it in. Phew.

In answer to all yesterday’s comments, it’s not a temp job, it’s a permanent contract (except I don’t actually have a contract - they’re not too hot on paperwork), and whilst on the face of it the obvious conclusion was No Pay = No Work, there was a little more background to consider. Jan/Feb are traditionally quieter months for us, and Feb has been even slower than the norm. Add into the mix a company that went bust on us at Christmas (owing a fair bit), plus quite a few other aged debts, and other accounts taking longer than usual to pay (seems we’re all in the same boat) - and that’s why the cheque was so late. And because I’m the only admin person, not working or doing the extra just shoots me in the foot in the long (or even short) run.

So, I’m back in the black, and just owed for the extra now - that was always going to be deferred, the original plan was Feb/Mar, looks like it’ll be Feb/Mar now - assuming things continue to pick up and there isn’t a problem with my March salary…

Bad neck pain - still

Mother

Ever increasing backlog at work

No sight of a February pay cheque (despite being promised it for today)

78.5 hours extra worked and counting (& no idea when it’ll be paid)

Fek

You wouldn’t think buying a card for a forthcoming special Sunday would be that difficult would you? But trust me, with my mother it’s an absolute minefield, fraught with complications.

Firstly, the card has to say Mothering Sunday. If it says Mother’s Day I get all sorts of lectures. My choice is therefore already severely limited before the next criteria has to be met.

Now this is going to sound harsh, but as most of you are familiar with my Mum and her problems, you’ll hopefully understand. I cannot - must not - get her any kind of card which says what a great Mum she is, or how wonderful she is. That would be a red rag to her bi-polar bull, and could very, very easily trigger a depression or worsen an existing one.

So the fact that about 95% of cards say Mother’s Day, and the vast majority of the remaining Mothering Sunday ones are boff-worthy in their gushingness makes this an extremely difficult time of year.

Chris has it easy - he just gets me one from the cats

No, not Jim Henson fuzzy felt muppets - quite frankly the company and antics of Kermit & Co would have been preferable today - no, I’ve had an entire DAY of dealing with muppets, aka members of the great unwashed sharing a communal brain cell, and having to politely tell them, by phone or email, that they’re just plain stoopid.

Gah!

Too tired - and sore - to blog yesterday, following my unintentionally speedy descent down the second flight of stairs at my friend’s house on Monday morning. I don’t recommend it, wrenched every muscle in my chest, plus those down my sides, plus a bumped lower back and two scraped & bruised inner elbows. Ow. Driving was NOT fun yesterday, and only mildly better today.

And you nearly didn’t get any bloggage tonight either, as I had to clear over 25,000 spam comments. Please have another go at sorting this out Gottle!!

But anyway, and far more importantly, we had a lovely weekend away, mooching around lots of little shops in the New Forest, spending too much money and consuming too many calories. I even went to a football match with Chris on Saturday (OK, I stayed in the nice warm car and read my book, but I was there!).

And of course Monday was Mary’s funeral. Is it wrong to say I enjoyed it? It was the nicest funeral I’ve ever been to. A sunny day, a good turn out, and wonderful tributes from vicars (yup, plural) who so obviously knew and liked her. Yes it was sad, but it was almost most definitely a celebration of a life well lived. God bless Mary, you’d have been proud of your boys.