I've had a busy few days and I'm in the mood to bore you with them now, so stand by.
Firstly the other-half and I (and lots of his family) went down to Guildford to help celebrate a family wedding. It was lovely. Happy couple, lovely atmosphere, delicious grub, 10/10.
We then spent the night in the noisiest hotel in the world. We were kept awake by the sound of people coming back from hen/stag nights and other weddings, so for the most part although they were noisy they were jolly. Not so on the third floor however (we were on the second floor which obviously attracted a better class of drunk). One of my sister-in-laws* was on the third floor (say no more) and she had the thrill of listening to a drunken argument taking place in the next room at daft o'clock in the morning complete with random door knocking and the added delight of the row continuing when the guests woke up in the morning. Deep joy.
(*You may have noticed that I allocate my three sisters numbers, nos 1, 2 and 3. It may seem odd that I don't extend the same 'courtesy' to my sisters-in-law, but there are seven of them and it gets a tad confusing to say the least, especially as they won't keep still for five minutes).
After our sleep deprived night, we went on our weary way to Cornwall, where we stayed in a holiday cottage for a few days with two of my sisters-in-law and their husbands. Those of you with no lives of your own will remember that I did the same last year.
Last year the weather was spectacular. This year we feared the worst. Monday was cold, rainy and increasingly stormy as the day wore on. To add to the meteorological drama I decided to throw in some excitement of my own by suddenly feeling like, to use a medical term, a bag of bollocks, feeling incredibly cold and developing a rapidly increasing temperature. The other-half rang my local chemo helpline and they said he should call an ambulance to get me to the local hospital. He sensibly pointed out that we were in deepest rural Cornwall and it would be much quicker if he took me to hospital himself.
This might sound a bit over dramatic but one of the problems with chemotherapy is that it can impair your immunity so infections can take hold very quickly and sometimes very nastily with the risk of neutropenia.
So the other half and I and one of his sisters (riding shotgun) headed off for Truro hospital. I did feel somewhat let down by said sister-in-law refusing to stick her head out of the car window as we drove along in the teaming rain and shout nee-na-nee-na like an ambulance siren. Some people are just so unhelpful!
Anyway, we got to the hospital and I had urine and blood tests, an ECG and a chest x-ray. But other than low pressure and a slightly high heart rate they could find nothing. They suspected an infection of some kind but couldn't trace its source. My white blood cell count was OK so thankfully they didn't keep me in but sent me home with a bucket load of antibiotics. In fact the doctor looked at me and said "Hmm, if you were on a desert island I wouldn't bother having you airlifted off". I'm still not sure if that was meant to be disdainful or reassuring. Anyway, on the whole, the way and speed with which I was treated at Truro A&E was impressive.
So we drove back in the dark and increasingly stormy night to the holiday cottage. By this stage I was already feeling much better and let myself be plied with tea, toast and sympathy. It was almost worth having felt grotty and enduring the scary car journey home.
The next day I felt fine. The weather had transformed itself into warmth and sunshine, so we set off on a walk where we came to a beautiful deserted cove
complete with seals
and gorgeous wild flowers.
The walk ended up in the local pub, which is where it all went a bit haywire. I'm afraid alcohol was taken, and quite a lot of it by me. If I tell you I ended up playing pool and being a right old sweary Mary at the same time I'm sure you'll get the picture.
The next day was, of course, hangover hell. Eventually I managed to get outside in the sunshine and walked (in a rather fragile manner) through a stunning meadow of buttercups
and along colourful roadsides
Seeing farm animals who clearly felt much like I did
(don't worry he wasn't dead, just having a snooze).
Sadly, the next day was time to come home (for a pre-arranged hospital appointment, big sigh).
Since coming home, as well as treading the straight and narrow, I have been lazing about (much like the pig only not in a cute way)
(please note that is WATER in the glass),
pottering in the garden with Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) taking residence, not very helpfully, in a seed tray.
Home isn't such a bad place to be. Cornwall is stunning but, if I say so myself, I'm pretty chuffed just sitting and looking at my tiny garden
I know it's too chaotic for a lot of people's taste, but it's exactly my cup of tea.
Hoping now for a couple of quiet-ish weeks so I can regain a bit more oompf to carry on with more summer shenanigans. Ta ra for now.