we're off tonight

To spend the weekend with Mr McMuffin Jnr and the Beau. There will be lots of eating, drinking (am opting out as I love my liver more and more the closer I get to 40) and fun watching the Beau perform in a musical. As a former West End dancer, I'm sure he will be very good, but modest as he is he maintains the cast are his equals or better, so we should be in for a treat.

As I have decided to shy from controversy I shall not write about how sad it makes me that this lovely couple can't get married. In time they'll get a civil union if they want, but we shan't think about how discriminatory it is to exclude an adult, unrelated couple in sound mind from marriage. We shan't think back to TEFLSmiler's post on Canada's positive attitude to equal rights issues and wish that we could follow in their footsteps.

My next post will return to the matters of Slinky, cleaning and how much I hate my job, as these have been rather neglected recently. Have a lovely weekend.

how many doctors and nurses does it take to change a lightbulb...

...As a firm supporter of the Nash, I am afraid to say that some of the staff I have encountered over the last three days have really let the side down. While the long and boring details of why I am bothering the health professionals can be left alone, I have arms (and an arse) like a pincushion and utter contempt for the idiots who have dragged my treatment (so far) out from a fairly straightforward one day to three days of pissing around. Fortunately I have a lovely nurse involved who has sorted everything out with a genuine warmth and speed and while I can't name her, R, you are a star. I suppose this health stuff explains the lack of posts from us and my ranty attitude when I do write anything, but I really am ok for now and this is the last word on the matter for the moment.

So Slinky has been simply adorable since he lost an eye. He is more affectionate, less screechy and much more easily appeased with a cuddle. He is a living advert for the wisdom of the people in H.G.Wells's The Country of the Blind, but we are going to leave the other eye in! He has retained a firm attachment to his travel basket and now likes to sleep in it when he is feeling a little bit vulnerable. A picture of the cuteness that is the one eyed Slinky in a basket will follow soon.

We always have the back door open in the summer and we forget sometimes that little creatures other than Slink like to come in the house. Tonight we had two frogs leaping around the kitchen and dining room. Guess which McMuffin was too frightened to pick them up and put them out? (Hint: The sucky baby has an X and Y chromosome). Sadly one of the frogs sustained a burn when it landed on top of one of the floor lights. For the safety of any other frogs deciding to invade our home, I think we need to find a less powerful light source.

We concluded this exciting day by watching Hotel Rwanda which was as fantastic as the reviews suggest. If you are like us and watch a lot of films after the rest of the world has already forgotten them, then this really is one you should make time for.

psst...

Want to rent a house relatively close to the action in 2012? Ha! You couldn't afford to pay the rent we are going to charge. So stop bothering us. We will be rich, rich, rich, I tell you.

my mate...

...Marmite. I have just found out that Slinky loves Marmite and will practically knock me out of the way to get to it. That's not the first time he's been disrespectful today, though, he screamed and screamed at me this morning until I shouted really loudly at him (for the first time ever). The little sod just gave me a look and made a sound I can only describe as that of a backchatting cat. He loves me again now, as he turned to me to help him see off the evil black cat who was lurking by the cat flap and I didn't let him down. I am Slinky's chum again.

scoop

Without the beady eye of Steve watching out for the David of bids against the Goliaths of Moscow, Paris, Madrid, London, New York etc, this would never have come to our notice. I've searched all over and found no other mention of the Billingham Bid. My conspiracy alarm is sounding and the volume is at 11. Why this has been excised from history? This really is one of those occasions when bloggers are prepared to say what needs to be said and take a stand in a way that the scaredy cat journalists are too frightened to do. Steve, when you need a place to hide from the IOC, we shan't turn our backs.

it's happened

Not much to say about the attacks on London, other than I'm so relieved to hear that my sister is unharmed. Sadly this kind of atrocity is nothing new for us in the UK and I'm sure we'll carry on as usual and thank whatever that it wasn't worse.

I've just come back to add this in response to some of the racist nonsense I've read on the internet and I hope there are no fools in my country who will allow us to be divided.

kind thoughts

Thank you all very much for them. Mr McMuffin and I are fortunate not to need to work in, or travel through central London with any regularity any longer. Our friends and family are all fine and my sister (who works in Edgeware Road) managed to get home a couple of hours ago, so even though I knew she was fine, it still felt like a relief. She is quite shocked by today's events, but not surprised and has been talking about how frightening it was to be in the centre of things, but with no real idea of what was going on.

It seems everybody behaved very calmly and my sister says some people were still out shopping and sightseeing in Oxford Street, so the accounts of 'an eerie silence' in London are complete rubbish. It appears as if it will be pretty much business as usual tomorrow and that can only be a good thing and a fitting tribute to those who died or were injured.

is this in poor taste?

Is 7/7 cooler than 9/11, not as a (terrible) event, but as numerals? Sorry, I couldn't help myself. Mrs McMuffin is shaking her head in disapproval.

house* for rent

*Picture is for illustration purposes only. If this house is not available we will guarantee to offer you a similar property or one slightly smaller, possibly a four bedroomed home which may require extensive refurbishment and be known as the house of shame.

terrorist

When I was only a little bit younger than I am now, I often used to puzzle over the idea of people being terrorists. I had some strange notion that being a terrorist was much the same as being a liberal democrat or a labour supporter. I just could never work out what the purpose of creating terror was. I remember the Bader-Meinhof lot in the seventies filled me with confusion and yes, I suppose, fear. Partly I think because I couldn't understand what it was all about. Terror and creating terror as a way of life? Did they think that I could be persuaded to adopt a terrorist lifestyle? It is true that for a while as a kid I did wear a blue woolen balaclava that my mum knitted me, but this was more about keeping my wee head warm than hiding my identity. It took me ages to realise that there was a little bit of the puzzle missing from all the descriptions of the terrible things that terrorists did, and that was why did they do it? I am older now, and I like to think a little bit wiser in the ways of the world, but I still can't quite understand how anyone could think that killing and injuring ordinary people in London will help to persuade me that their view of the world is okay. I suppose the only consolation they have is the fact that the establishment has conceded to the demands of terrorists time and time again throughout history. The world we live in today would be a very different place without the terrorism of Oliver Cromwell or George Washington, or any number of other men that we credit with the creation of the modern world. The point I am trying to make here is that maybe, just maybe, the so-called terrorists that we face are doing what they do because they're fighting for something of value, something that we have taken from them or are denying them in some way. I do have to admit, though, I am not entirely clear what that could be or how killing my neighbour is going to help them achieve what they want.

terrorist part 2

I, along with lots of other people, agree that violence is wrong, but I have the luxury of being able to live in a world where I never have to resort to violence.

I sit here in my comfortable house playing on my expensive computer, thinking about whether to upgrade it, and knowing that I am going to have something nice to eat and drink tonight. I might even drive over to the huge shopping centre that they've built a couple of miles away to see a film that might have cost $200 million to make. I have plenty of free time and money with which to enjoy it. I do worry sometimes that the schools around here are not as good as they could be. Sure my children will still get an education and will go on to university and probably be able to access education and training for the whole of their lives, but I just wish the schools were a little bit better. Oh, and I have a lead pipe in my garden that is leaking hundreds of gallons of water into the ground around a 160 year old wall.

It is easy for me to sit here and say that violence is wrong. I also have the comfort of knowing that I live in a country where, even though it is wrong, of course, my government will go to war and kill and maim for me if our way of life is ever remotely threatened, or if the resources we need to maintain our way of life is ever remotely threatened. I even have the luxury of being able to criticise government policy and take to the street in, peaceful, protest, if I want to.

The long and the short of it all is that I live in a country that is incredibly rich and powerful. For the most part we didn't become rich and powerful through our own efforts. We just took what we wanted, as did most of our modern western allies, and we continue to take what we want, although Fairtrade coffee does begin to redress the balance a little. The US may be slightly different in that they have such huge internal resources that they have rarely needed to take from other people. Well...apart from taking the whole country away from the native inhabitants.

I live in a country that is incredibly rich and powerful and we took most of this great wealth from other people and I benefit from it everyday of my life, and I hope that my children will benefit from it too. I never want to less wealthy that I am today. I hope that my government will strive to protect my way of life, using diplomatic means if possible, but resorting to violence, even though we know that is wrong and I will probably be very critical of them for doing so, if it is necessary.

I am not an innocent victim. That doesn't mean, of course, that I am willing victim.

---

[I've just had a big row debate with Mrs McMuffin about this post. She completely disagrees with me. Of course, she is wrong.]

we are bad people

We've just been reassured by our Dutch friend that she is fine, which is nice as we didn't even realise she'd come over to London. But that's not why we're bad people. It's not even because our second reaction after shock on Thursday was to start cracking jokes about rental values and abbreviations and we don't have a clear definition of terrorist versus freedom fighter or rebel or whatever approved term is used for many of the same actions. No, the reason we're bad people is that without knowing, Mr McMuffin and I had dressed the same yesterday in tan trousers and a light turqoise top. I know you're shocked at our public admission of this perversion, this unnatural crime against humanity, but sometimes you just have to face up to what you are.

things that go bump in the night

When I was younger I often had to walk home at the end of a night out. As I wandered the empty streets in the early hours of the morning, the unwanted thought would pop into my head what happens if I'm the first victim?. Every horror story I've ever read always begins with the EVIL taking it's first victim and then lots of people stand around going I had no idea that there were three thousand year old two headed man eating monsters living in the sewers or so vampires really do exist.

Tony Blair must have these thoughts too. The Sunday Times has an article in it this week about a special report prepared for Tony Blair about the rise of a new generation of angry young British Muslims. Apparently it is suggested that these young people have no connection to known terrorist groups, or even a criminal record, of any sort. They are described as clean skins.

Maybe it is time to start making a tin foil hat, but every time I read stuff like this a little voice in my head screams conspiracy and I have visions of everyone sitting back and allowing the Government to drive a steamroller over our civil liberties. If the Government doesn't know these angry young British Muslims exist, then how do they know they exist? The next step is a small one, and given that we have done it before, it should be a fairly easy one. The Government will need to take steps to protect the country from this less than obvious threat. The recent fiasco around weapons of mass destruction springs to mind. If we can invade another country, think how easy it will be to insist that all Muslims carry an ID card. Don't think for a single second that this will apply only to young angry Muslims, after all this Government would never want to use religion as a basis for acting against a single group of people. That would be discriminatory. No, we will all have to carry ID cards. It will not be long before someone in the Government says some thing about how fortunate we are to have an ID card system in the works because that really will help us stamp out this new breed of terrorists. The only problem I can see is that while the Government is keeping tabs on the bad people, they will also be keeping tabs on the rest of us too.

My advice to Tony is that he should stock up on the garlic too. You know, just in case...

Oh, and I forgot to mention that blaming this stuff on groups of people that we don't know exist, but just might, is a great way to excuse the failure of the security forces to protect us. After all how can you blame anyone for failing to protect us against people they didn't know existed.

wedding belle

While Mr McMuffin attempts to make sense of terrorism and its impact on us, I realise that for me this is a hopeless task. I never really understood the politics of the school playground as a child and I still don't get it on a larger scale. One minute we seemed to love the heroic Mujahideen and their stand against the Russians, then they metamorphasised into the evil Taliban. I remember when we hated the Iranians ands the Iraqis were our chums, now we seem to hate them both. So I've given up and I'm returning to the things that only interest me and a handful of people, like Gypsy Tart's wedding.

Her wedding plans have been a nightmare, largely because she and Rock Cake have hardly made any beyond booking the ceremony and the honeymoon. On Saturday Mr McMuffin called a wedding planning meeting and with the help of Ms Ginger Cake and Single Cookie, it is all under control. I went shopping yesterday for a dress for the bride to be and we found one in the second shop we went in (we chose our shops very carefully).

Gypsy Tart looked absolutely beautiful, in a rather non traditional colour. The colour only seemed to bother my parents and I was really cross with them for their thoughtlessness. Saying 'well, it's your wedding and you can wear what you like' isn't a glowing endorsement I'm afraid. When do older parents cross the line into elderly? It's when previously thoughtful and generous people suddenly become very fearful of change and their own mortality looms over them. I hope this isn't permanent state as I really miss their strength and calmness and I relied on them to take care of me and have me in their thoughts. Now we're all just nice, but flawed adults. I preferred it when I didn't have to be a proper grown up.

look what we've done...

We thought it was about time that we made a formal announcement: we're having a baby. Mrs McMuffin has just entered her second trimester and all is well. I haven't got much else to say about it at the moment, except that I have high hopes of the second trimester after the hormonal hell that was the first.

ah...it's so lovely

It really does feel good to have you all congratulate us on our good fortune. I never thought I would say this. It's only a couple of years since I thought all those people on the internet who made friends were a little bit strange. I now realise that it is possible to feel a connection with people that you have never met. That is a little bit odd. It is even odder that nearly my first thought once we knew everything was okay was that I must post about this, rather than tell anyone. The other thing is that this news has brought some lurkers, which has been nice. It has even brought out Mrs McMuffin's much, much older sister. The really old one that we don't talk about much. The really old one that we don't talk about much and who has a glass eye and a wooden leg. That one. It turns out that she has been lurking for some time, but she finally has commented. Anyway, thank you all.

we love typepad

We now have 1Gb of storage space and 10Gbs of bandwidth, although we've already used 20Gbs this month. I don't know what they've been doing, but the site is loading very, very fast. I knew something was coming and this was worth the wait. The best bit is that it's all free.

just a quickie

Thank you for all your well wishes. We are both very happy, but absolutely terrified about what lies ahead. One of the reasons we started this blog was that we felt the need to do something together following a miscarriage a couple of years ago, so it's lovely that we have this news to announce on the blog. As you may have gathered from some of my posts it has been a bit of an anxious pregnancy so far and I hope it isn't misguided, but I now feel that this little thing will be fine, this time, but it's going to be a long six months. The news we had on Monday is very good and although a lady doesn't give her age away, I am on the slope down towards forty, so it was wonderful to hear that I had no more chance of having a child with Down's Syndrome than a fifteen year old. Of course the real worry begins when it's born and I know I'll be checking on the bairn's breathing until they're old enough to leave home.

I am a little obsessed with being pregnant and find talking about it very interesting. So far people have indulged me (although not all of my psychotic hormonal behaviour) but I do appreciate I've turned into one of those women I despise. Single Cookie has agreed to shoot me if she ever catches me leafing through the Mothercare catalogue and learning to knit. I've asked her, as I know she would keep in mind the woman I once was and not allow sentiment to put her off her aim. She's written an encouraging email to tell me how she's loading up the gun already.

overheating

We're all melting down South and work is unbearably hot, making my legs swell up until I'm scared someone is going to brush against me with a pin and I'll pop. McMuffin mansions is considerably cooler and fortunately my legs soon return to normal proportions in an hour or so of getting home. Poor Slinky can't even seem to cope with this level of heat and has taking to flopping on any available surface and stretching to ensure as much of him as possible is exposed to the air. He's been very grumpy and has invented a few new sounds to indicate his extreme displeasure with the weather. So far the weather hasn't taken any notice of him.

Oddly enough, we're not that busy at work when it's really hot and people seem too lethargic to abuse their children until the temperatures drop. The last cool resulted in a high number of 'battered babies', which was most distressing and is still keeping us very busy trying to protect them from further harm. Of course, I'm now dreading the next temperature drop professionally, yet trying to balance this fear against my wish to live with a less fractious cat. On balance perhaps it's best to sacrifice Slinky's comfort as in any case I'm just too hot and sticky to do him any harm.

this is a real smooth one...

I just had to post this one. Do you think anyone ever falls for this stuff? The English is awful, it's in capitals, and the lies are inconsistent. In one sentence they are a girl and in the next they are a boy. I find the whole thing slightly insulting. Do these conmen really have such a low opinion of us all?

FROM ZUBBI LUCKY ,
ACCRA GHANA,

ATTENTION:

PERMIT ME TO INFORM YOU OF MY DESIRE OF GOING INTO BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP WITH YOU. I WAS SEARCHING FOR A GOOD AND RELIABLE PERSON WHO WILL ASSIST ME IN THIS TRANSACTION.

I AM MR. ZUBBI LUCKY , THE ONLY SON OF LATE MR. AMADU ZUBBI. MY FATHER WAS A VERY WEALTHY COCOA MERCHANT BASED IN ABIDJAN, BEFORE HE WAS POISONED TO DEATH BY HIS BUSINESS ASSOCIATES ON ONE OF THEIR OUTING TO DISCUSS ON A BUSINESS. WHEN MY MOTHER DIED ON THE 21ST OCTOBER 1984, MY FATHER TOOK ME SO SPECIAL BECAUSE I AM MOTHERLESS.

BEFORE THE DEATH OF MY FATHER ON 29TH JUNE 2001 IN A PRIVATE HOSPITAL IN DAKAR SENEGAL. HE SECRETLY CALLED ME ON HIS BEDSIDE AND TOLD ME THAT HE HAS THE SUM OF
US$10,500,000 (TEN MILLION FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS) DEPOSITED
IN A FINANCE AND SECURITY COMPANY IN ACCRA GHANA,THAT HE USED MY NAME AS HIS ONLY DAUGHTER FOR THE NEXT OF KIN .HE ALSO EXPLAINED TO ME THAT IT WAS BECAUSE OF THIS WEALTH THAT HE WAS POISONED BY HIS BUSINESS ASSOCIATES THAT I SHOULD SEEK FOR A FOREIGN PARTNER IN ANY COUNTRY OF MY CHOICE WHERE I WILL TRANSFER THIS MONEY
AND USE IT FOR INVESTMENT PURPOSE.

DEAR, I AM HONOURABLY SEEKING FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE IN THE FOLLOWING WAYS.

1)TO SERVE AS THE GUARDIAN OF THIS FUND SINCE I AM A BOY OF 24 YEARS

2)TO MAKE ARRANGEMENT FOR ME TO COME OVER TO YOUR COUNTRY AFTER THE MONEY HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED.MOREOVER,I AM WILLING TO MAP OUT A VERY GOOD PERCENTAGE FROM THE TOTAL SUM AS COMPENSATION FOR YOUR EFFORT AFTER THE SUCCESSFUL TRANSFER OF THIS FUND TO YOUR POSSITION.

FURTHERMORE, YOU CAN INDICATE YOUR OPTION TOWARDSASSISTING ME, PLEASE YOU SIGNIFY INTEREST TO ASSIST ME.ANTICAIPTING TO HEARFROM YOU SOON.

THANKS AND GOD BLESS YOU YOURS FAITHFULLY,

MR ZUBBI LUCKY .

everything changes...

As you may have gathered, there have been a number of life changing events in the McMuffin household and I'm going to begin another one. I've been seconded into a new post in September, as I've been asked to be involved in piloting a new shadow service (no, it doesn't make sense). That sounds like I'm someone really special, doesn't it? Sadly, I'm not. I was the only person who was foolish enough to agree to do it, although to be fair, not that many people were asked! However, after constantly working lots of extra hours and often being too busy to eat, I realise that I need a less frantic and stressful pace of work life at the moment. The good thing is that I get to keep my current job and can return after maternity leave.

We've also had more changes around the house thanks to Rock Cake and Gypsy Tart. As they want to use our house and garden for their wedding celebrations they have both been quite motivated to make it look nice. Well, that's rather generous of me, as Rock Cake's motivation was Gypsy Tart telling him she was going to cancel the wedding (and meaning it) if he didn't help with the arrangements. They've helped me clear the nasty compost and water barrel as well as various triffid like plants I found growing and are extending the paved area by our pond, so that there is seating for more guests. They are bloody brilliant at this and it's a shame in some ways that they are highly trained and skilled in their professions as they make this kind of hard work look very easy. Mr McMuffin sensibly sat back and only observed. He has to keep his hands free from accidents in order to cater lovely food for the big day.

pain

Sometimes I wonder where the notion that women are cooperative and not competetive comes from. It's been my experience that while women may support each other in lots of different ways, when it comes to womanly type ordeals, sisterly solidarity can desert us.

I'll never forget the glee of the older or more mature girls when they talked about how lucky I would be to survive the monthly period hell that consisted of practically bleeding to death and wanting to die from the excruciating pain. Well, I started menstruating and was surprised to find that it was bearable. As it happens, I suffered a lot more than most women I know (except for my poor sisters) but mustn't grumble, it's got a lot better over the years and now I'm pregnant I don't even suffer menstrual migraine, hurrah!

So back to the whole pregnancy thing (obsessed? Moi? No, no, no). I am not carrying a sign inviting women to tell me about their near death birth experiences, so I wonder why they are so desperate to try to scare the shit out of me. I've laid down some boundaries, such as no one is to whimper or moan around me if they have more than one child, as they clearly too stupid to respect, having failed to learn from experience. In fact I don't want them to tell me anything, unless it's as useful as the comments from my friends, family and the parents among the small number of people who read this blog.

I probably sound like a miserable cow, but the whole thing is so terrifying, why would I need more fear? I'm not really that frightened of the pain, more of things going wrong and that's something the scary sisters never want to share unless they come through it martyred and with terrible war wounds to prove it.

the engines cannae take it...

Never mind babies, Scotty is dead. I grew up with him, kinda half believing that he really was Scottish. He was a crap actor but I'll miss him. I can't believe the way my childhood is dying around me

boring me now with simple division

Big yawn, more arses with bombs trying to kill people. I bet they call themselves the 'multiples of seven gang' or something equally pathetic. Anyway, I don't care enough about them to speculate any more, I'm just pissed off that I've only had a few short years in my life when the fear of a bomb going off wasn't with me and now I've got it back again.

I'm glad in a perverse sort of way that I grew up with the anxiety of the IRA attacks, as it does make me a bit better prepared than the poor Canadians I work with, who are half convinced they'll be blown up in the next few hours and are questioning whether to return back home. Still, they'll always have good stories to tell of how they were in London during the attacks (safely ensconced ten miles away) and gain that air of glamour that comes with living a little dangerously. For the rest of us, sadly, it's business as usual.

if a double decker bus...

...were to run you over and you were taken to hospital, what would your underwear say about you? I'm only asking this because I read a stupid article in the Sunday Times about how fabulous French women were at everything, but their need to wear matching underwear indicated that they were deeply dull.

In my experience women fall into three camps; those who always wear matching underwear, those that rarely do and those we don't talk about. I resent the suggestion that those women (who have the foresight to realise that wearing odd undergarments indicates not a Bohemian like carelessness and interest in the arts, but a slatternly approach to life) are in fact tedious and anal and probably the Mirandas and Brees of this world.

Strange as it may be, the need to match underwear does not appear to be a product of parental teaching, as I am aware of a few sisters who do not share matching ideals. I find the matchers to be in the minority, but usually surrounded by siblings and friends of the non matching type. Their path is a hard and lonely one, but nevertheless it must be trodden. There is much work to do and many to convert before we shuffle off.

By the way, this post has nothing to do with any knowledge I may have from old drunken discussions about this very issue with Mrs Carrot Cake (wonderful meal at the weekend and fantastic company), Single Cookie (single handedly organising a top hen night and visionary of wedding party design) and Gypsy Tart (the soon to be married and currently my TKMaxx haunting partner in crime-they're going to reduce that bedcover more, I just know it and I shall be there when it happens).

our love lives

My big sister telephoned me tonight to wish me and Mr McMuffin a happy wedding anniversary. I reminded her it was tomorrow and she told me that it was her anniversary tomorrow, not mine. Ms Ginger Cake wished Mr McMuffin a happy anniversary at work today and he told her she was a day early.

What can I say, Mr McMuffin and I are rubbish at remembering this date, even though it is the anniversary of the happiest day of our lives. I would like to remind Mr McMuffin that I still I feel that marrying him was one of the best decisions I ever made (even though sometimes I like to tell him that I only married him out of pity). Happy Anniversary, Cariad.

second best

Our original plan of a few days in Paris to celebrate our last anniversary as the two of us, had to be shelved for a few reasons. Firstly because we couldn't afford it, then I couldn't get time off work anyway and obviously neither of us would have been able to remember the day, so even a day trip (like last year) would have been pointless. Instead we celebrated yesterday, a day late, with some food and a film.

The film was The Descent and it was very good. I had an older, very cynical woman sitting next to me and her remarks throughout the film sent me into fits of giggles, but even she had to walk out at one point when it got a bit gory. I stayed, clutching Mr McMuffin's hand and peeping through my fingers at the screen. There aren't many films that make me do that and I'm pleased to say that the director of Dog Soldiers has pulled off another stylish low budget film.

things to do and moan about

It's only a month to Gypsy Tart and Rock Cake's wedding and we have much to do. Somehow I have to transform the back garden from a dessicated weed patch into something gorgeous and change the front garden into something that actually looks like a front garden and not a patch of land for the accumulation of weeds, crisp packets and abandoned cans of lager. I have also got to sand the windowsills, fill the gaps in and repaint, find nice window boxes (which wont get stolen) and a few nice pots to put next to the front door (which of course needs replacing). I won't even start on the interior renovations required, but currently unaffordable thanks to a new budgeting crisis brought about by the mysterious pipe in the garden.

I had thought that we might get change out of £100 to call a plumber in to seal the leaking pipe, but I'll let Mr McMuffin explain why we would have to pay a £425 non refundable fee up front to get Thames Water's evil plumbing burglars to sort the pipe out. Obviously we are not going to pay this amount for a tiny job that even we could do, if we were authorised to turn the water supply off. It's a bit complicated, but the pipe isn't even connected to our mains supply, so we can't turn the water off and fix it, but we are still entirely responsible for getting it fixed because it ends on our land. Work that one out.

The other news is that work is wildly entertaining for all the wrong reasons and there are massive conflicts raging all around my team, but not in it. Fortunately, we seem to be getting along fine and morale is high despite the other managers seeming to be trying their hardest to fuck it all up for me. That isn't paranoia speaking, that's exactly what this horrible group of managers is like. I'm glad I'm taking the project post, even though there are some serious problems with the job it will only be for a few months and then I'll be off.

I'll be off on maternity leave and probably being forced to take in fine embroidery for ladies to supplement our income, like a good Regency character. This bathetic nonsense is inspired by my reading up on the maternity benefits available to me. My entitlement (although manna from heaven compared to my poor US sisters) is much less than I first thought and the lowest rate in London for comparable organisations. I get 90% pay for 6 weeks, 50% for the next 12 weeks and statutory maternity pay (approx £100) for 26 weeks throughout. How do people afford to take a year off or give up work? Even six months is going to be a struggle for us and I don't think we'll have the luxury of part time working even if we cut back to the bone. Anyway, I'm sure I'll find a lovely childminder who won't feed the bairn gin all day and keep them in a shed.

So I'm ending this massive ranty post on these cheerful thoughts: I have only felt like puking once in the last week. I have stayed up late (past 10pm) practically every night this week. My hormone levels appear to be more stable and I am only arguing with Mr McMuffin every other day. I actually look proper pregnant and not just as if I have been eating too many pies, even if this is bare compensation for my arse and thighs appearing to have acquired a recent flabby look. I am actually quite happy, even if my anxiety levels could do with moving from red to yellow.