a cure?

I have been looking through our Madeira pictures and there are some very lovely ones, which I shall get Mr McMuffin to post, as I still can't remember how to do it without him yelling over my shoulder. I have the day off today to try and get things back to normal and have been aided in my ambition to wash and dry everything by the glorious weather back home. Apparently it got up to about 35 C on Sunday, so I'm glad it's cooled a bit since then (all the way down to 33 C, according to my car).

Slinky had his stitches removed today and behaved himself very well with the vet. I was a bit worried that we would miss the appointment, as he stayed at our lovely neighbour's house last night, but in he trooped at 8.30am. I think he was making some kind of point about being left behind when we went on holiday, as our nice neighbour says that she only usually sees him about once a month for about five minutes and all he does then is go in and inspect her and the house, have a little wail and then leave.

So, anyway, the point of this post was to tell you all how brave I was about flying (and incidentally going in the cable car up to Monte). It was the strangest thing for me as I have been a poor flyer since I was ten and to be anxious rather than terrified was a completely novel experience. I even wished I had a window seat, rather than cursing the gits who leave the blind up and force me to catch glimpses of sky or tiny specks of land. What's more I didn't even use the prescription for diazepam that my GP gave me. I know, it's just not natural, fear of flying is such a part of me that I'm beginning to suspect that I have been replaced by a pod person, particularly as I began to consider long haul as within my grasp. Strange days indeed.