Surreal Limboland

So, its been a funny old kind of a week. Am sitting in the living room, head a bit in hands, smelling the nice niff of washing powder on them as I've just hung the laundry out. My aren't days off exciting. But actually there's something quite comforting in a nice aroma. One of the many simple pleasures you don't always spot until you take a moment to literally breathe them in.

Has taken half the morning to clear up from last night's wedding planning supper – Best Man, Bridesmaid, Usher, Master of Ceremonies & Lindensmeister all present, pissing themselves as I tried to run through the typed, 3 page set of instructions for the wedding day and the day after. Sods! Plus Hawksey sitting back on the sofa as if he hadn't really asked me to write it all down, and ask people to do different roles over the course of the wedding weekend, the swine.

Though my planning and 'getting things just right' mentality was salved nicely this morning when I noticed my Personal Trainer kicking the floor mat to a nice right angle with the big mat it was on, several times over. Hurrah, it's not just me who's OCD about getting stuff squared off! And here's a question he and I then debated - you remember at school when you used to get a protractor and a set square for doing technical drawings – well, what was the metal thing with two sharp points you also got? Like two pencils stuck together at the top and dart-like pointy ends? That was this morning's conundrum in between punching the crap out of the poor chap and sweating my stubbornly still fatness off on the various machines with Nick intoning 'I will not drink for the next 4 weeks' in my head, as a subliminal prompt to shed the last few pounds pre-white dress day….

But anyway, back to Limboland. Has been interesting that the overwhelming majority of you have suggested getting the results as maybe its better to know than not to. I kind of thought you would 'vote' the other way, so that just reiterates why I have never understood politics… But for now I'm not going to, partly as I can't be arsed to go back to Parkside for another morning of jumping through hoops and partly as there's a bigger bit of me that just wants to ignore it all as much as possible before I have to give it the time of day again.

And apologies for all you kind folks who rang me – some fo you several times – this week. I know I didn't pick up your calls and feel bad for not doing so. It's just that I am crap at talking about It on the phone and often get grumpy with whoever's on the line, so better not to discuss it. Funny how writing about It is somehow less 'in your face'. Or mine. Good old blogalog.

Right, off to buy some milk as Ashley nicked off with our two pints last night and to treat myself to the Friday Killer Sudoku in the Torygraph. Ooh its a tough one but Mojo, the sofa and I are all ready to take it on. Possibl yin conjunction with the very nice chocs that Carolyn (wife of Best Man Alex Donald McDonald – yes that really is his middle name) brought with her last night…

Happy Friday you fabulous people – just 4 weeks today to Day of the Monster Meringue, be afraid, be very afraid… Sx