Well, it's better than being egg-bound, I suppose. That's a nasty condition for sure. Anyway, today I feel as if I'm living slightly outside my own life. It's strangely hard to put into words - something like woozy but not quite. Definitely distant. Perhaps my poor old system doesn't quite know what to do with the extra inrush of oestrogen which is suddenly being added to the gloop? I can imagine all my little blood cells going: Good God, George, what the devil is that? We haven't seen this for a while. Can anyone remember what to do? Equally strangely, I've also developed a stiff neck, but I can't see that in the hugely long list of side-effects this gel I'm using is supposed to produce. Apparently, the big worries are stopping breathing and pains up the arm. Hmm, I think I'd notice that. If the pain moves down from my neck, I shall endeavour to act accordingly. In the meantime, if anyone else out there is on Sandrena Oestrogen Gel, do get in touch and tell me if it gets better. Or not.
Despite all this - and the bollock(if I had any)-freezing weather, I have managed to go golfing with Marian. However, bearing in mind my neck, my ankle (getting better, thanks!) and the fact that I was wearing a jumper, a fleece and a golf coat and therefore looking like the Michelin Man, my game was crap. Thankfully, so was Marian's, so I did beat her. But only just. I also performed a valuable service for those golfers behind us, as my ball broke the ice on the lake, thus saving them the stressful question of: shall I stand on the ice to play this one or shall I opt for living another day?
On the way home, I popped into Godalming to stock up on a few essentials, and seemed to bump up against thousands of shop assistants desperately trying to be helpful. Most of them in Boot's. I had to run the gauntlet of (a) do I want a meal deal? (b) do I want a Boot's card? (c) do I want to sign the form which gives me easier prescriptions? The answers being (a) no, I just want the ruddy salad; (b) no, I've never understood the counting system or what I'm allowed to buy with the damn points, and life's too short to try to figure it out; and (c) yes, all right, you've broken me, I'll sign the damn thing if only in order to get away from all this commercial concern ...
Anyway, once I'd ripped myself away from the caring arms of Godalming, I managed to get home and have spent the rest of the afternoon writing precisely 362 words of The Bones of Summer. That's not including the nice row of dots signifying a section break. Ah well. I can see that Craig is still not best pleased with my desertion.
Tonight, I'm off to London to see Jane W. It will be lovely to see her and catch up (my, what a lot I have to tell her!), but I am dreading the fifteen minute ice-cold walk to the station and the long rumble into London. Must dash and start getting those layers on again ...
Today's nice things:
2. Writing - however tiny
3. Seeing Jane W.