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!