And......breathe

It's been a trying time for me. I've not been well. It's been well documented (not on here, obviously, as this is the first day for ages that I've felt able to sit at the computer/laptop without recourse to self diagnosis on the NHS Direct website.....I have all of the illnesses listed under A, D, F, K and S. Or at least I think I do.)

Well documented in that all of my family, friends and neighbours have an opinion on what ails me, what could cure me and what I should steer clear of. My GP, bless him, has diagnosed "stress". Well, give that man a bloody orange. Stress!!!!! Why didn't I think of that?

I laughed when he told me what he'd concluded. I even underlined his diagnosis by having a rant, followed by a little sob, followed by Lovely Loretta (receptionist extraordinaire) having to carry me out to the waiting area and feed me tea and ginger nuts until I was calm enough to walk in a straight line.

Stress. Now I wonder how that came about?

Amelia (chief cause of stress) wanted to come and "look after me" the week before last. I clutched David warmly by the lapels and said "If she comes within fifty foot of me you, matey, will suffer as only I can make you suffer". He went green, phoned his mother back and....guess what? She hasn't darkened my doorstep. Result. Bea's reflexologist went away, almost in tears after I failed to relax under her ministrations. Apparently I'm the first failure she's had since she started officially as a freelancer. The stress counsellor I visited (at Bea's insistence) made me want to hit him which did wonders for my stress levels but, according to my darling sister, he found me "interesting" and "wanted to dig more".

Seriously though. I am better than I was. My blood pressure has returned almost to normal, I can now watch programmes without sobbing into a cushion when Bradley Branning dies/a lion cub loses her mother/Del Boy's granddad dies/Manuel's pet rat has to leave Fawlty Towers/there is a sell out of an item I really want on QVC. And David can now utter the words "oh, we're out of milk" without me beating my chest and wailing "woe is me" - I'm over exaggerating. Slightly.

I was (surprisingly) calm and relaxed on the anniversary of my mum's passing. However, the day after was spent either in tears or ramming Haribo into my mouth. It's been a trying month to say the least. But I'm back. A few pounds lighter, along with my hair which I've had blonded as a "treat" and ready to take on my bit of the world again.

I just need to get my bearings and visit you all for catch ups.....please bear with me!

Who gives a toss?

I do apparently. I have to, as David "can't quite get the wrist action right for tossing stuff". There's no real answer to that, is there?

This was the excuse he gave Mac just now when his youngest son asked for "pancakes daddy, with lemon 'n' sugar". I had to retrieve myself from my sick bed (okay, the sofa) where I have been residing since the Wedding That Never Was with mother-in-law induced stress. More to follow on that subject.

So. Although David had been helpful enough to mix up the batter, it was I standing outside getting the pan at the right temperature and pouring in enough batter (but not too much - thick pancakes are "yucky" apparently) and flipping said half cooked batter with gay abandon.

As all the tossing and typing has worn me out enough for me to doze on the sofa until Eastenders starts, I've left David with the washing up. And scraping half cooked pancake off of my cooker hood.

Bea is coming to see me tomorrow with her homeopath and reflexologist - wish me luck!

Wedding Day Blues

Disaster has struck the House of Mitchell and the House of Jack Next Door. Well, maybe not disaster. Just a HUGE mistake narrowly averted (according to Amelia), thousands of pounds wasted and jet lag. Shall I go on?

On Thursday, two days before The Wedding of Amelia and Jack Next Door as announced at our Christmas lunch Amelia arrived on my doorstep with collywobbles the size of Australia. "What if Frank doesn't want me to get married again?" she said as she hoisted herself and her bags through my front door. Frank was her (now deceased) first husband and was the sweetest, kindest man in the world. "I'm sure he's okay about it" I pointed out, flinching as the phone rang in case it was the caterers with yet another crisis. Why, when we were paying them to manage this wedding, were they on the phone every half an hour with a query?

After a cup of tea and a dunked digestive she headed off to Jack Next Door's house to help him prepare the house for the arrival of his only daughter from Mexico and to finish his packing for his move to the residential home. I saw him in the garden on Tuesday morning seemingly saying farewell to the stumpy stumps of his rose trees.

Friday morning dawned and the flowers arrived for what had become a discreet family only wedding. After the ceremony at the registry office we were heading to Bea's palatial house for the reception before the happy couple headed off to the Lakes for a freezing week in a lakeside cottage. Amelia disappeared next door again, not looking herself and wearing a "sucking lemons" face.

At half past two, Jack's daughter Fiona knocked on our door to introduce herself and to inform us that the happy couple requested some "time alone". "I dread to think what they're getting up to!" she said as she bounced round the house, proclaimed the dogs "cool" and revealed that she was a geologist. And what that entailed. In mind numbing detail. I almost kissed Amelia when she reappeared. "We have an announcement" she said, glancing at Jack "but we're going to wait until David and Virginia are here".

Three hours later (I picked Mac up from school in a daze and didn't even go near Ayres) and David and Ginny arrived home. For the three hours we waited, the happy couple sat at the kitchen table holding hands and ignoring our pleas to be told what was happening. Fiona asked me how on earth I put up with Amelia. I snorted my response and then had a coughing fit. I was imagining all sorts of things - "at least she's not up the duff!" Fiona boomed - and, from the gaunt look on Jack's face, my money was, morbidly, on a terminal illness.

"We've decided not to get married after all" Amelia said once we were all seated in the living room. "What?" spluttered David at the same time as Ginny let out a bark of laughter "Why?" Fiona said, looking stunned (and jet lagged).

"Because Amelia.....I......we.....felt that at our time of life it was a ridiculous proposition" Jack said, squeezing Amelia's hand. "I flew all this way only for you to cancel the wedding?" Fiona said in a chilling voice "Do you have any idea what I had to do to get out of the field trip I had planned?" she went on. Ginny mouthed "What?" at me. "We felt it was ridiculous and unnecessary" Amelia added, throwing in "But we are going to co-habit" as an after thought. "Will the home allow that?" David asked, shooting me a look. I knew why, I moved into David's house a fortnight before we got married and was labelled a whore, a harlot and a fallen woman for doing so and he feared I was about to exact some revenge.

"Of course darling, we're not in the Dark Ages!" she laughed. Laughed! I was still struggling with the news and waste of money. But, having told us all, the still happy couple had relaxed and looked fifteen years younger and suggested we cracked open one of the many (many) bottles of sparkling wine we had "hanging around".

So. Can you imagine how I spent my Saturday morning? Placating a fuming Fiona (who hogged the computer trying - and failing - to change her flight back to Mexico), cancelling the Registry Office (who told me "no monies would be returned"), giving away buttonholes and table centre pieces, explaining to the caterers that, whilst we would pay them naturally, we no longer had any need for any of the food (apart from a selection of the choicest nibbles) and giving Bea a few suggestions on how to explain to Stephen that the house needed re-decorating anyway.

It was a breeze.