The not so glam world of…

I know, I’ve done it again.  I’ve not written a word for ages.

Mainly because I’ve been so bloody rushed off my feet with helping to organise a festival.  I’m supposed to be the ‘PR and Communications Manager’ which basically means writing the odd press release and updating Facebook and Twitter.  For the last fortnight (pretty much), I’ve lived and breathed the festival.   I’ve replied to a hundred band applications, built a website, updates Twitter and Facebook and pretty much got muddled up with who I am, when I am.  All on basically no budget and no help from someone who was supposed to be helping.  Fair enough, the kid’s doing his uni work – which I do understand – it’s just that in the meeting he promised to help and then backed out.  Which has left me looking more and more like Hermione from Harry Potter when her hair gets bushier the more stressed she gets.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved every minute and managed to manage my time well enough to be a mummy for the monsters too (even if it meant I didn’t get to bed until nearer 1am some nights answering emails) – but answering pretty much the same email upwards of a 100 times can be a bit annoying.
Let me explain a bit more why…
I stressed on several posts as the Festival for bands to clarify their genre so that their details could be forwarded onto the relevant stage manager.  Alt-Rock is not enough of a genre when Alt-Rock covers pretty much anything that isn’t in the charts.  There are several sub-genres of Alt-Rock – indie, heavy, punk, ska (to an extent), metal, post-hard core… You get my drift.  Several emails later and I finally get to the bottom of what stage they should be heading for.  Or then there’s the ones who don’t bother putting any genre down at all and just links.  All well and good, but when you’ve been asked to specify your genre and keep it short and sweet, it’s for a reason.  Namely the poor sod reading and answering the emails hasn’t got the time to sift through and click on every link and listen to every song to work out where you should be.  It isn’t that bloody hard to just say ‘Indie/Punk’ or ‘Metal/Thrash’ and by doing that, you’re more likely to make the person answering the emails actually like you.
That bit is as important as actually getting sent to the right stage.  The first person answering your email has the power.  The power of the delete finger.  Think of the person answering the emails as Alan Sugar on a bad day.  If you don’t put the relevant information in, you’re immediately fired.  Luckily, I’m quite nice and persevered with each band to the point of actually coaxing the information out them, like you would coax a wary dog into the bath.  Even the band who made up a whole new genre, making themselves sound like total and utter arses who would be absolute nightmares.  Although, I’ll admit I was tempted to just hit delete.
Then there’s the bands who pester.  No, not pester, harass would be a better word for it.  The one’s who expect an immediate reply and will badger you more and more until you get the point where you’re practically using caps locks to say, don’t email me anymore. Badgering me won’t get you a slot at the festival and I certainly won’t pester the stage manager for you – especially not when you’re emailing me at midnight on a Friday night about it, via my personal email!  Or the bands who won’t take no for an answer and continuously apply even though the applications process has closed after it was open for two weeks…

And, breath.

It’s not really that bad to be honest…  This is just an insight into how hectic the world of working behind the scenes of a festival can be…  Wouldn’t change it for the world though

 

Chronicles of a Clumsy Cow

I have two awful, debilitating conditions.  Endometriosis being the most volatile and painful condition.  Extreme clumsiness being by far the most embarrassing.

It’s not sweet clumsy like Bridget Jones or Miranda.  It’s absolutely devastatingly, red-faced inducingly, stuck on crutches for 6-8 weeks at a time type of clumsy.  I can’t just trip up or fall over and walk away with my head held high with a beautiful man shaking his head and laughing but falling in love me.  Oh no.  I have to fall over and not be able to get back up again.  Let me take you on a journey of a couple of my more ridiculous clumsy adventures…

There were a couple of occasions in my previous incarnation as a call centre goddess.  The worst one by far was one Tuesday evening at the end of my shift in November.  I was walking down the stairs and could see the hubby waiting to pick me up outside the main doors.  I was happy – not just because it was the end of my shift, but because I had a college course that night – and I’d just been to a concert and was still on a high from it.  That happiness lasted approximately two seconds longer.  I stepped down and somehow my foot missed the step I was aiming for and it landed on it’s side one step lower.  I clattered to my backside in a rush of green parka coat and red handbag.  And a lot of swearing.
A couple of my colleagues were a couple of steps lower than me and heard my tumble.  One turned round and rushed back upstairs yelling ‘First Aider!’  When a First Aider asked who it was for, the git replied ‘guess’.  And, they guessed.
I still don’t know whether the fact that he replied ‘guess’ or the fact that they did guess pissed me off more.

Then there was the fact that I fell off the chair last Sunday when we went to the small gig with my brother.  Well, I didn’t actually fall off the chair.  I just went to sit in a chair that wasn’t there any more.  And ended up hitting another chair on the way down.  Giving myself a hell of a bruise (which is still there) and a swollen elbow (which still hurts – although it’s not broken, just badly bruised).  I was stone cold sober.

Speaking of being sober and injuring myself…  The long weekend over New Year myself and my best friend spent away in Dublin is the perfect example.  The entire time we were there I was pretty much plastered.  Apart from the morning before we were due to leave.  I decided the flat we were staying in was in serious need of a clean and so in my socks on a laminate floor I started to sweep.  A little bit too vigorously.  I ended up breaking my toe.  Not entirely sure how, I just know I slipped and whacked it on the door jamb.  As you do.
I’d fallen over so many times that weekend in Dublin.  Cobbled streets, beer and a clumsy student don’t mix particularly well.  But the only time I really hurt myself was that morning when I broke my bleeding toe while I was sober.

Then there were all the times when I was a student that I wound up on crutches.  Absolutely, genuinely too many to list.  Some of them drunken exercises in complete daftness, others just normal happenings.  Like the time I was walking with my friend to the booze shop and fell off the curb…  oh no, wait…  I was a bit drunk then.  We were celebrating handing in our dissertations…

Back to the present then.  In the call centre I’d regularly bump into the support posts that never ever moved, I just forgot they were there with my complete lack of spacial awareness.  I regularly walk past a door and become entangled in the handle.  Even when it’s a knob shaped one.  I once ran down the stairs so quickly in the MiL’s house that I whacked my forehead on the overhang and knocked myself out so badly I got concussion – I still have the lump nearly nine years later.  Not to mention the time I went into a soft play area to rescue the female shaped monster and came out with concussion, whiplash and a tea-towel full of ice on my head.

The fact that this bout of nearly two months on crutches hasn’t been through clumsiness is hard to digest for most people who know me well.  Honestly.  I didn’t fall, misplace my step or kick anything.  The ligaments around my Achilles just gave way.  Could happen to anyone.

Political Bee in the Faker Bonnet

You’d have to have been living on Mars this week if the news of Maggie Thatcher’s death has passed you by.  Especially if you live where I do.

I live in an ex-coal mining town.  Although I’m not from here originally – having moved here to do my degree and then staying when I met the hubby – I’m directly affected by the Iron Lady’s impact on the town.  As I am from growing up through her regime in the ’80’s.  I won’t go into detail into why I’m not mourning her death and why I won’t be watching her funeral on Wednesday as better writers than me have summed it up in a much more coherent way than me, this is more about people’s reactions.

Thatcher is still somehow dividing opinion to the point where it’s getting silly.  People are claiming we should have respect for her family who are grieving and not say what we think.  Bollocks.  Personally, I believe it’s about one hundred more times respectful to the grieving family to be honest.  She wasn’t a saint, so why act like she was?  It achieves nothing to shove a false halo on the head of someone who didn’t care less what people thought of her when she was alive – and neither did her family.  If someone wants to make crass remarks about why they’re not mourning, let them.  Don’t jump on and start slating them for their opinions.  If it upsets you, move on.  Don’t lecture to people who have a strong opinion on Thatcher that they shouldn’t have it just because she’s dead.  Dying doesn’t change the harm she caused to many people or their opinions.  If people use the rhetoric ‘show respect to the dead’ then we should be showing respect to Stalin, Hitler, Hussein and Bin Laden.  They all had families too.

That’s rant one over.

Rant two.

I mentioned on my private profile that due to an error, our Child Tax Credit was cut down by £70 a week.  They’d over calculated our income – having me down as still working part time.  Probably my own fault as I’d probably forgotten to ring them (I’ve blogged in the past about my inability to remember to do stuff).  I then made a call to arms;
‘The enemy isn’t within. It’s not us – the people who try to survive. It’s the Bureaucratic Government with their unmitigated cruelty to those who live on nothing. 
We must rise as a nation like we did in the 80’s and tell these ConDem Noobs that they’re not wanted. But we won’t, because we’re too busy blaming each other – blaming our brothers and sisters on the breadline. We, the strugglers – the benefit claimants, the immigrants, the disabled, the carers, the workers surviving on a pittance of a minimum wage while inflation pops prices through the roof – are too busy cat fighting amongst ourselves instead of standing up to the towering pillars of Westminster.’
Cue someone coming onto my profile and spouting that there are too many claimants having too many children they can’t afford just to complain and claim more benefits and they’re under occupying houses just for the sake of it.   She then went on to laud that she had a highly paid job and didn’t complain about her outgoings (one of which is £300 a month in petrol…).  She then went on to complain when people stated that she had offended them.  She said it was a general statement – completely missing my repeated point of – if you make a general statement about people on benefits – you make the statement about all of them.  It’s a combined attack.  I even posted facts and figures for her to read – which she didn’t do – resolutely sticking to her guns that the cuts are needed and need to come from the poorest in society.
She ended up deleting me because other people told her to bring her head out of her backside.
Am a bovvered?  No.  I’m not.

The point is, the government use divide and conquer the same way Thatcher did.  Only the enemy this time isn’t the miners or the steel workers, or any other worker in the national heavy industry which provided the backbone of the country.  This time the enemy is every single one of us who strive.  We fight against each other with ridiculous, petty squabbles that are fired by the right wing media which is under the governments thumb.  Democracy is failing.  We’re loosing our fight against the establishment and turning our frustrations onto each other.  We’re becoming a parody of ourselves.

It’s sad.  I’m a journalist and radio presenter (albeit a fake one) and we’re losing our media to politics.  Even BBC radio one has diminished itself by pandering to government pressure and not playing ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.  A track that people have bought to have their say.  The BBC is a public commodity.  Not a government one.  They answer to the mass public on a weekly basis by playing the top records bought that week – but they’re not this week.  They’re answering to the cold towers of Westminster instead of bowing to public grace.  It’s censorship.  We’re becoming a shadow of a dictatorship.

I shake my head in shame.

Of Directions and Multiple Social Media Mummy Personalities…

The last couple of days have been slightly manic at FakerVille.  Allsorts of things have been happening.  Best set things out in order, more or less.

Male Shaped Monster has started and completed his first week in his new school.  He coped beautifully on Monday when he had to get into the taxi with the complete and utter strangers – completely making a mockery of all of my major concerns.  While he clambered into the taxi without a backward glance, I was left standing at the door with my trusty Kleenex, snivelling.
Although it’s very early days, he seems to have settled in incredibly well and – more importantly – I’ve already noticed a marked improvement with his speech.  He even said ‘Mum’ the other morning.  Three times.  I cried.  Again.

Last weekend, my brother came over from the other side of the country with my niece and nephew.  We’d last seen each other just before Christmas.  It was interesting…  The family came to ours for Sunday Lunch and with me having flu (despite having the flu jab last November, I swear I’ve had full blown flu…), the plan was for them to come over for about 1pm ish so me and hubby could prepare lunch in relative peace and buy the food fresh in the morning.  No such luck.  Being quite outdoorsy, my brother was getting fed up cooped up at our mums – so, over they all came.  At 9am.
To be fair, everyone piled out to the local park while hubby and I raced around the local Tesco and bought pre-cooked chicken and easy cook veg, potatoes and Yorkshire Puddings.  The plan to cook all from fresh went out of the window with the fact that there were now eight people milling around my house.  Four of whom are miniature.
We then planned on going to a gig in a local pub that afternoon.  And, surprisingly we made it to the gig.  Not that we stayed long for numerous reasons.  The first one being I sincerly thought I’d broken my elbow after I sat down and completely missed the chair.  I wound up with a massive bruise on my thigh (which felt like a graze) and a swollen and aching elbow.  Plus the Male Shaped Monster has inherited my old iPhone 3G, and put me totally to shame by working out how to zoom in on the camera function.  I had that phone for four years and never worked it out…

The next morning was Male Shaped Monsters transition to school, which as mentioned went beautifully.  But then came the farewells to my brother after we’d deposited Female Shaped Monster at her school.  It was a fairly simple good bye, his monsters giving hugs freely and waving good bye.  As brother had mentioned he wanted to go back via the motorway, hubby and I led the way in our car before pulling off to get some fuel.  10 minutes later came the phone calls.

Brother – ‘Why did you send me this way’
Me – ‘You said you wanted the motorway’
B – ‘Not this one the one near the football ground’
M -‘There is no motorway near the Football Ground’
B – ‘Yes there is! You go down to the sign where I got lost the other day and…’
M – ‘I’ve lived here over ten years.  The sign is posting in different directions.  There is no motorway near the football ground, and certainly no direct Motorway from Fakerville to Rainy City!  The only one is where we took you – and then on to the M62 near Leeds’
B – ‘So, which direction do we need to take then?’
M – ‘North.  Head North.’
B – ‘So, South and London?’
M – ‘No…   North.  Then follow signs to the M62’

This took three phone calls.  I rang mum and announced I would be getting him a sat nav for his birthday.

I’ve spent the rest of the week doing mad amounts of Social Networking PR for the festival I’m not going to and ended up in a couple of very heated political debates which have both caused near steam to come out of my ears and kept me so busy at one point, I actually got genuinely confused as to which page I was acting order and who I was having which debate with.  Luckily, the only mistakes came on Twitter really when I tweeted a professional tweet from my personal account.  I nicknamed it Social Media Schizophrenia.  Later that night I had the more commonly known Mummy Schizophrenia…
Fairly Tired but in a Relatively OK Way Mummy Faker goes downstairs and get Males Shaped Monster some milk. On the way up Female Shaped Monster announces she doesn’t want me to go into her room.
Evil Mummy Faker kicks in and goes into her room.
Pencil crayons all over her room.
A cross between Cleaning Up Mummy Faker and Not Very Happy Mummy Faker  takes over and while cleaning up admonishes Female Shaped Monster. Who then starts crying so Soft Mummy Faker comes in and hugs her, brushes her hair and plaits it while Not Very Happy Mummy Faker still mumbles crossly under her breath. Then Bribery Queen Mummy Faker tucks her in while promising she can still go to Nanan’s tomorrow as long as she doesn’t come back into Tired and Bordering on Cross Mummy Faker bedroom while she goes back and does some of her Wanna Be PR and Writer Superstar Mummy Faker work.
Now I’m in Endo Pain Grumpy with a Pregnant Looking Belly with No Baby in it just Fat Mummy Faker mode.

Being Naughty

I’ve been a little bit naughty over the last few days in more than one way.  Firstly, I’ve hardly been writing, but I’ll get into why in a wee while.  Secondly, I’ve been forgetting to take my anti-depressants.

I only realised when I woke up this morning, after having to take some Amitriptyline for the Endo pain last night, that I’ve been forgetting to take my regular anti-depressant.  This isn’t particularly good.  And it answers a hell of a lot about my recent mood swings.  And why I’m dwelling on stuff I don’t need to (like the idiots who twisted my depression and turned it to something about them).  Will be getting back into my regime of taking them tonight – and trying out a new (as of yet unknown) regime to make me remember to take them all the time.
Although I’d rather not be dependent on tablets and medication, I have to face the fact that I need to be.  I get far too angry about the small things when I stop taking my medication and that is not good for me, the monsters, the hubby – or anyone else who know’s me to be honest.  When I’m on the anti-depressants, although I’m still cross about the same things, they don’t make me blow my top and I can see the balance that in all honesty it’s not that bad.  They don’t make me overly happy neither.  They just completely balance me out.  I have the strength to understand that when things are good, they’re good and when things are bad, they’re bad – but in a way that I don’t overreact.  I’ve been so bad lately forgetting to take them and it hasn’t been intentional.  I have just genuinely forgot – but now that I’ve remembered I’ve been forgetting, I should remember.

So, why haven’t been writing?  Well, I have been poorly with flu like symptoms recently, rushed off my feet with the radio show and been in agony with the endo.  Not really excuses, just reasons.  I’m in agony this morning though and have a tight chest thanks to the flu like symptoms, but I’m writing…  Well OK, I have been writing, but not the blog.  I’ve been accepted as a regular contributor for the women’s magazine (apparently, I’ll be an ‘expert’) and I’ve been doing the odd guest blog for my friends website but other than that, I’ve just not been motivated to write the blog.  Partially down to the anti-depressant issues probably, but also because not much has been happening other than what I’m always telling you about.

Oh well, more blogs later today as some things have happened this week, if I can manage not to sneeze all over the screen.

Magical Mystery Easter Hunt.

So, after Saturday’s ordeal in pain, I spent Sunday morning racing around the house throwing Easter Eggs here, there and everywhere as quickly as possible for the monsters to find.  Easier said than done, when you’re on crutches and clutching your stomach.  We then realised we had lost our Niece’s Easter Egg – and so had to pile into the car to look for a new Egg.  Again – easier said than done.  For the first time ever it appeared that every single shop, mini mart and garage had completely sold out of chocolate Easter treats.  We eventually found an overpriced Lindt Rabbit in a small Tesco’s in the back of beyond.  Off we go to drop that off, pick up female shaped monster and then go home.   By this time though – it’s nearly 12 noon – as of course the clocks went forward.

So, home we get and the monsters immediately ransack the house to find their Eggs.  I was useless as in the ensuing panic to find the Niece a new egg, I had forgotten where I had hidden the Monsters’ ones.   There was no point doing clues neither, as although the Female Shaped Monster can read beautifully, she gets over excited and does her own thing anyway.  And, besides, I was too exhausted on Saturday night to plan it properly.  While they were racing around, Mum rang asking us to find some cup-a-soup sachets for her – even though we’d told her several times that there were no major Super Markets open today – she was insistent that there was.  So, back into the car we pile as we go and find a small corner shop that was still open.

While we were at my mum’s – triumphantly holding a pack of cup-a-soup from a mini-mart, I had a bright idea.  The sun was out, there was a hell of a lot less snow around, let’s go for a drive!  Have a picnic somewhere.  I can take pretty pictures with my new shiney phone.  Off we piled back home and packed a huge (three bag’s worth) picnic.  Back into the car we get and head for the M1 for our magical mystery tour south.  Bear in mind that it was now approaching half past two…

We ended up in Oxford.

And stayed there for the night.  As you do.

On the Bank Holiday Monday, it transpired one of my friends (who lives in the same town as us) was also down near Oxford.  So, we drove (and of course, got lost) to them and had a coffee and a chat in M&S.  As you do.  It was lovely and I’d never even heard of Whitney – never mind going there…

After much debate, the hubby and I then decided to take the Monsters into Oxford itself.  After a few false turns, we eventually found a park and ride and had a look around the beautiful historic city.  Shame we disembarked from the Park and Ride in a bit of a scruffy shopping mall – where I actually had to hover over the toilet for a pee…  We then decided to take an open top bus tour.  Typically, the snow decided to return as soon as we sat down on the top deck.
An hour or so later (and practically stuck to the seat we were that cold) we went for a wander around Sainsburys to make a picnic for the journey home.  Via a de-tour around Stratford-Upon-Avon and then a massive de-tour around the Midlands as we tried to find roads that weren’t Motorways so I could have a wee drive.

By the time we got home, as exhausted as we were, I was feeling pretty upbeat.  The hubby had inadvertently set my fictional imagination off with a throw away comment and I was buzzing from the ideas whizzing around my head.  They had to sit pretty though, as I had a mammoth feature to write.  Something I was quite nervous about.
Turns out I didn’t have to be though – as the editor has just emailed me back and said it rendered her speechless.  In a good way.

Other things are happening as well.  I’m going to be blogging for the wonderful CopyCat Costumes and Fancy Dress.  Tomorrow I’m off to watch a film with my fellow Muse Freak.  My niece and nephew are coming over at the weekend with my brother.  Just next week is a little stressful as I’m having The Horn removed on the same day as the Male Shaped Monster starts his new school.

Sure, I’ll get through it though.

Visitors

Well, I survived the visitors – just.  I spent the last 6 or so hours trying very hard not to scream in pain, bursting into tears for no apparent reason and being told to eat as I had forgotten.

I also spent a lot of time taking many pictures of their beautiful son with my snazzy new phone.  And then more silent screaming and more tears for no apparent reason.

I haven’t seen them since before Christmas – and although I was loosing weight then – the look on my best friends face when she saw me today said a hell of a lot.  She was shocked.
The thing is, we’re quite aware of weight around my best friend.  She was once verging on being anorexic.  We went away on a girlie week many moons ago where I spent a whole day cajoling her to eat a slice of pizza – and we both spent a lot of time crying when we realised what was happening.  Ever since then she’s managed to maintain a healthy weight – although she is still very naturally slim.  The fact the she practically marched me into my own kitchen to make sure I ate today was quite surreal.  It’s nothing like anorexia with me – just the fact that I’m so blooming spaced out because I’m in so much pain and worrying about getting the male shaped monster, visitors and the evil genius cat fed – I forget about my own nourishment.   I think she thinks I’m not eating on purpose.  I can see where she’s coming from though after what she’s been through – and my own dramatic weight loss (I’m now almost a size 10.  In November I was a size 18).  So I had to explain what has been happening with the endo, zoladex and crutches in great detail while her hubby went for a wander with the male shaped monster and their baby.

When they left, they looked almost like they wanted to stay to keep an eye on me as the hubby is working his late shift this week.  I assured them the most difficult part of the day was now over – all I had to do was get the male shaped monster settled and then I could just sink onto the sofa and sleep.  And here I am, the male shaped monster is curled up and very nearly asleep.  The cat’s curled up at the side of me.  I’m curled up with a good book and some chocolate – waiting until 11pm when the hubby comes home and we can curl up together and catch up on the return of Dr Who.

Small things like that make me very happy…

In pain

I’ve not written for a week or so due to being busy and being in a hell of a lot of pain…  Don’t want to go into it too much so will start again from today.

I have guests coming. I need to tidy up but can’t be bothered. No, scrap that, it’s not that I can’t be bothered – I can barely sodding move. The pain’s like a zigzag sharpness today from my belly to my kidneys and back. It’s making me dizzy and making me feel sick. I had my second Zoladex on Thursday and am beginning to think it’s not working for me. The consultant was adamant that if my pain is endo then the Zoladex will shift it in the three month trial period she’s put me on. The nurse said different on Thursday. She said it takes at least 3 months for it to start to work in the first place. She nearly didn’t give me the injection when she saw how badly I’ve been bleeding on it (worse than normal) and when she saw that I’ve lost yet more weight but look even more pregnant due to the roundness and hardness of my belly.

To top it off my female shaped monster has morphed from a beautiful 7 year old into a fully fledged teenager with histrionic style fits as soon as I ask her to do something she doesn’t want to do. My mother in law has taken her out for the day and night – leaving me with the autistic male shaped monster. Says something when an autistic child is more peaceful and calm than a child not on the ‘spectrum’ with no behavioural issues other than she’s acting like a spoilt monkey.

One lovely thing did happen this week…  An endo sister sent me a lovely care package full of chocolate and treats.  She single handedly restored my faith in humanity in that small gesture of true kindness and solidarity.  She emailed the hubby through Facebook and asked our address…   She will get something in return – but she’ll never know when.

The week, professionally speaking was good.  Apart from not being able to write too much due to the sheer level of agony I’ve been in and the business in arranging a gig in my living room for the radio show – which by the way went amazing.  I also got a brand spanking new iPhone5 – so have been busy playing with videoing and editing pictures as well as managing my music library – which I decided to upload onto the computer in a fit of madness…  Two days later I was still uploading.  A week later I still have stuff to upload but just really can not be bothered…

 

Thank you…

Just a quick blog to say thank you.  Thank you to the people who have been reading it and leaving feedback.  Thank you to the endo sisters who have been offering their support via Twitter.

Thank you.

One ‘Of Those’ Days…

Yesterday can only be described as being ‘one of those’ type of days.  From being busily rushed off my still injured feet to crying buckets for no apparent reason down the phone.

The day started off completely mental – having to take the Female Shaped Monster to a friends house to get her to school as we had to the the Male Shaped Monster for his first full day at his new school.  Because it was a voluntary day there – to try and get him more integrated with his new peers – we had to take him ourselves – which isn’t a problem.  As soon as we parked up the problems sort of started – the Male Shaped Monster fell straight over onto his bottom in some mud and the hubby forgot which entrance we were supposed to go in.  So, a very grumpy Male Shaped Monster and an increasingly grumpy me traipsed aimlessly round after the hubby before he declared he forgot which entrance and dragged us all the way through the school and up and down a million or so stairs.  Only to find out the entrance I was pointing to was the right one.  The Male Shaped Monster, once he’s hung his coat up and deposited his lunch box, wandered off happily with the new teacher, while we got trapped inside the school from the influx of small people shaped monsters entering the building.

When we eventually escaped (er, I mean…  you know), it was to the local hospital for physio on the foot.  We were a bit early though, so first we went and paid for concert tickets at the Monsters’ normal school, went for a ‘Faker Special’ sandwich at the local cafe (it’s a very crispy bacon – so crispy it’s like a crisp – sandwich with a bit of tomato on it) before traipsing to the hospital.  Verdict – still on the crutches for another two and a half weeks, although I am allowed to reduce down to one when I’m at home.  Totally getting fed up of them now – although the tops of my arms are decidedly less flabby than they were a month ago…

Myself and the hubby then spent an hour or so of relative tranquillity going for a drive through some of the stunning country side that we have the outstanding luck to live near.  You can go from horrid suburban ‘villages’ (like the one we live in) to real stone built country cottage villages with nothing around but green hills and farms for seemingly miles around in the matter of minutes here.  When you’re in the country cottage villages, you’d be so hard pressed to believe that there’s a bustling town a mere hill and valley away.  All you can see are padded body warmers worn by horsey women and old style farm LandRovers.  It’s a culture shock in the space of ten minutes.  Just five miles down the road are the Weatherspoons, discount shops and general hustle and bustle favourited by the suburban residents compared to the butter scotch coloured brick cottages and smokey chimney tranquillity of what every one imagines the country side villages and hamlets to be.

Unfortunately, we had to go home as is our want, and that’s when I decided to burst into tears as the Health Visitor gave us our monthly call.  She rings us regularly just to check we’re coping OK with the Male Shaped Monster’s autism and everything else that can bring.  I bought her up to date on the school change and then informed her I’m on the crutches and under the Gynea’s for my stomach etc.  Then burst into tears.  It’s not really surprising when you think of the stress the stupid people have put me under over the last week.  I explained the situation to her – explaining why I’d written the blog post about what happened when I was a child – and how the idiots had twisted it to their own means to cause me more pain.  She’s not happy.  Not happy at all.  In fact – she called the idiots ‘evil’.  Then, she begged me to go back to the GP for more pain relief as she’s not particularly happy over the failure of the Zoladex.  So, an appointment was made to see my GP (who, I might add is wonderful) at 5pm.  Completely forgetting the Female Shaped Monster had to be back at school for 5.30pm for her Easter Disco.

The next couple of hours were manic.  Monsters picked up from school – barely getting to the new school in time to pick up the Male Shaped Monster.  Straight upstairs choosing a suitable dress for the Female Shaped Monster to wear.  As we were being sickeningly girlie, the Male Shaped Monster started howling.  He’d climbed onto the chair to reach for a banana and promptly fell off.  He was clutching his arm in a very particular way (he’s broken his arm before – last September – when he fell off a friends trampoline.  On his first full day in school.  Pattern, anyone?).  We manage to get some pink Calpol into him (he won’t take anything other than pink Calpol), and he calmed down a small bit.  We decided to see how he got on while I went to the Drs.

At the Drs (the hubby had to leave me there as he was running late to take the Female Shaped Monster to the disco), he also wasn’t happy with the failure of the Zoladex.  Considering I’ve got the Mirena Coil in still as well, it’s highly unusual that I’ve bled at all.  He’s recommending I have a Laparoscopy (for those who don’t know – it’s Key Hole surgery to see what’s happening in my stomach – not a curative operation, but an investigative one.  Sometimes some lasering is able to be done during the procedure – but that’s at the surgeons discretion) and is wanting to know what is said when I venture back to the hospital for my next implant injection.  He also prescribed me some new medication.  I’m still on Amytriptaline but also Meptin, instead of the Tramalamadol.

When the hubby came back for me, it was clear the Male Shaped Monster was still in pain.  So, a three hour trip to the children’s A&E was in order.  He was so brave though as he went for his X-Ray all on his own – the first time he’s ever agreed to leave our side in a hospital.  Luckily, despite the Dr feeling that his arm was broken, there was no break – just a bad sprain.  So he’s off school today with his arm in a sling to protect it.  Although he woke up an hour or so ago, he’s currently fast asleep again.  Pain affects the Male Shaped Monster in a way that he just wants to sleep.  He becomes very cuddly and clingy and sleepy – quite like a toddler – rather than an almost five year old.  The Female Shaped Monster stayed with the MiL last night and is due home soon to get into her uniform and to go to school.

On a happier note, last night, the hubby and I decided to have a short holiday with the monsters.  We can’t afford much, just a camping trip in Shropshire.  It’s not very expensive and we’re going to be near enough to take The Monsters to Iron Bridge and maybe into Wales.  We’re also able to save for spending money for it.  Unfortunately it means not being able to get a festival I help the PR with, but the Monsters have to come first, and this camping holiday will be just what the Dr ordered for us all.  We haven’t had a full holiday as a family of four at all.  We’ve had trips to friends houses and stayed there a few nights, but it’s not the same as a holiday – just the four of us on our own – not intruding on anyone.  I can’t wait!