Friday 1st June 2007

4.03PM: And so the worsip of the porcelain god begins.

12th Chemo session today. 4 to go! PICC line is flushing, but not bleeding. Joy oh joy.

Lucy came to visit Monday and Tuesday. Really lovely to see her. We had A LOT of fun. Particularly on a horse racing game on the Pier. Managed to get it to gallop. Steering it was another matter, as was getting off the sodding thing...surprised I didn't need the Fire Brigade.

Must dash...literally. Vomit calls.

Sunday 27th May 2007

What a fucking fantastic weekend! It all began when I collected Treacle Tart aka Ms Leticia Jennings and we headed up to Stratford-upon-Avon, singing along to Fleetwood Mac's 'Greatest Hits.'

After driving around a mini-roundabout 3 times trying to find the Twelfth Night Guest House car park, and then 4 attempts to park the car in a garage the size of a rabbit hutch, we hit the streets of Stratford in true OAP-style by stopping off at The Shakespeare Hotel first for a Cream Tea.

Then after a quick ride, at almost whiplash speed, on the carousel we decided to hire a rowboat on the River Avon. I began the rowing. Letty's reaction: "We've got a fucking hour of this." So, after 5 minutes Letty took over the rowing. Oxford and Cambridge had nothing on us. After another 5 minutes: "How long has it been now? Where's the pub?" Another half-hour of swan dodging, barge crashing and slightly-dodgy rowing later we decided the pub was definitely the better idea.

We then descended upon the Vintner restaurant for a gorgeous meal during which I got slightly over-excited about their toilets being authentic "Crappers" and us having to endure the loud, boring voice of a girl on the next table. Choice quotes from her conversation were:

"I'm so proud of my sister, Christabel, (Oh God, she would be called Christabel). It's so lovely that we both work in the theatre." (Ugh and shudder).

"I'm going to be out of the country next week. N.Y. New York." (Thank Christ, can you go now?)

"Well I've never actually spoken to Ben, but I know him SO well." (Yes, I'm much the same with the Pope actually).

Anyway, suitably stuffed, we waddled to The Courtyard theatre and took our seats among the Gods to watch Sir Ian McKellen star in "King Lear." I was slightly more pleased that Frances Barber was playing Goneril, but we both got to see slightly more of Gandalf the Wise than we expected when he stripped off v near the interval. I swear we were the only two giggling but I hadn't expected to see the "noble steed" of a Knight of the Realm. The performance, in all aspects, literally, was huge.

Then it was back to the Twelfth Night Guest House where I think Laura Ashley herself may have spontaneously combusted and ended up everywhere. Chintzy does not even begin to cover it. However, it was clean and comfy (if not a LITTLE snug).

Breakfast this morning lived up to the internet promise of being served on Royal Wedgewood china. However, it was served by a Polish waitress, who confusingly knew the English "I'm sorry. It's my first day, I don't understand" but not "Water please". Our request for Brown Sauce was granted with "yes" and then...nothing.

Our trip back "down South" was once again soundtracked by Fleetwood Mac interspersed with "Wuthering Heights" by Kate Bushg (complete with hand actions), but another stop had to be made in the tiny village of Gaydon (oh come on...we HAD to stop) and juvenile photos had to be taken in the pissing rain by the one road sign that seemed to be the only attraction the village had.

So, now that I've stitched my sides together, I think I will go and sleep. Lucy's coming to stay tomorrow. Haven't seen her in AGES. V excited!

Oh...and this entry is dedicated to Treacle Tart. Thank you for a brilliant weekend my lovely!