Yep it's another chance to stick in a photo of the Shropshire countryside - hurrah!
Guess what I’ve done today. Sweet Fanny Adams, naff all and diddly squat, that’s what.
I’ve noticed that a couple of people in America and further afield read this blog (hello!) and I’m not at all sure that the phrase ‘sweet Fanny Adams’ is in use outside of the UK so I’ve included a link to its meaning. Now I knew it meant ‘nothing’ but had no idea of the story of how it came to be used that way, and once I investigated had second thoughts about including it here – it’s horrible, sad and depressing. Sorry. Therefore I will be avoiding using the common (in both senses) English phrases Fucking Ada and Bloody Nora in this post just in case their back stories are equally unhappy (and also I’m obviously far too refined to use such terms).
Last night I upped my anti-anxiety medication to the recommended dose (IE I doubled it) and took a sleeping tablet. I can’t say it made a massive improvement to my sleep but the lethargy the combination caused in the morning did mean that I couldn’t be bothered to get super-anxious until about 1pm (a good 5 hours later than usual). On the downside I have also lacked the energy to do anything. If I tell you I’m willingly sat in front of the telly watching Sharpe you’ll know how low I’ve sunk. But the remote control is a good four feet away, so what’s a girl to do (even one with a pathological loathing of Sean Bean – yes, yes I know I’m in a minority on that one).
However, my utter idleness has allowed the other-half to commence Cyril Proof Fence building in between bringing me fish finger sandwiches, cups of tea and hot cross buns. See, I'm always thinking of others.
Anyway, must go, I've started getting interested in this episode of Sharpe after all. Bloody Nora, what's happening to me?