Got my favourite sunglasses back!

Also got a new car, and a walk in the Peak District, and a number of cheeky nights out with people I especially like, and a new dress from Primark which, on reflection, does make me look like a nurse.

I've also got a cat who is sick three days out of every five, a housemate who uses scalpels to cut things out on our now-horrendously-scratched coffee table, and a colleague who I suspect of harbouring a secret crush on another colleague. All these things make me nauseous.

But on balance I like all things at the moment.

Good news, or somethin'

My default reaction to people shooting out from sideroads across major roundabouts because they've been looking at their SatNav and not traffic conditions:

1. Right foot brake

2. Left foot clutch

3. Heel of right hand slams into middle of steering wheel like it's on fire

4. Optional (depends on company): profanity which would make a sailor (with Tourette's) blush

On the plus side: the horn on my new car is nearly as good as the old one. Just needs some breakin' in, is all.

I've been trying on dresses all day, in town.

I am wearing an enormous, ornate, heavy gold bead necklace that my housemate bought me for my birthday.

Every single time I've whipped a dress off, over my head, I have caught said necklace in the hem and twatted myself in the face with it. Every single time.

I didn't buy any dresses, in the end, and all I've got to show for a whole morning's work is a black eye :(

Crazed, brutal tyrant

So I've got this thing going on at work.

A third party company is making something for me. Someone else from my business is liaising.

I asked Thirdparty politely if something which was previously undiscussed would be possible. Thirdparty went straight to Liaison Woman bitching and whining about my 'unreasonable demands'. Liaison Woman has got her panties in a knot about it because it has uncovered a big fuck-up in her project management of Thirdparty, and she's now decided to instruct Thirdparty to stop making the thing they're making for me!

Seriously, this is the business equivalent of "it's my ball and I'm going home!" except it's my chuffing ball.

Bravely struggling on

I am currently dying of what I have diagnosed as Meningicoccal Influenza. I am hardly ever sick and now I feel like my skin is on fire (dead giveaway for flu) and my throat is so swollen I can't move my head (must be meningitis).

I have to soldier on because I've got an appointment in town. Despite working in the field of freely-available medicines I don't seem to have any paracetamol in the whole house, however, and my housemate drank all the emergency lemsip so I'm hunched like a crone with limited mobility. Getting into the shower took about fifteen minutes and then I had to stay in there for three-quarters of an hour trying to summon the energy to re-open the showerscreen.

Last night was worse, though - I couldn't sleep because someone had set my bed on fire and all my joints hurt. I actually did wonder if I might need to go to A&E because there just seemed to be so many incapacitating things wrong with me. I hate feeling ill in the middle of the night, it's so scary and makes a mockery of my 'totally independant' attitude because I want to sob quietly into a housemate's shoulder while they call me an ambulance and mopped my fevered brow.

NEW GAME

I've just wasted half my ridiculously expensive prescription ear-drops playing "Catchee Bottle" with the cat.

The game is: he creeps up; I flick the bottle; he looks intrigued and pouncy; I spray him in the face with antibiotic fluid and he leaps in the air in the most humerous fashion! It was so droll.

Now he's gone away again because he heard someone less cruel come home.

State of the onion

God absolutely everything has been a struggle this week. I'm walking uphill backwards carrying a monkey a pile of chips and set of encyclopaedias through a contraflow of molten lava. I've got plans for the weekend but I swear to god I'm going to cancel them and just sit under the desk in my room with a rolled up ball of yarn instead.

Even writing this entry: struggle.

Surrounded by boring mysteries

My housemate ('stablemate' from now on) bought me Twiglet Book Four as a joke birthday present. It was a joke but we both know we'll both read it and whinge but it's what binds us together at the moment.

I'm two chapters into "Stephanie Meyer's Fantasy Wedding To A Mysogynist (Only She's Too Much A Product Of Her Southern Upbringing To Realise That Her Main Character Is A Controlling Tosser); Also Featuring Stephanie's Bestest Imaginary Friends From When She Was A Lonely Teenager!" and, I swear to god, I have physically gagged more than once.