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.