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Utterly Shite

Yesterday was La Donna's birthday, and she'd booked a few of in to a favourite Palestinian restaurant of hers in Soho. I had been feeling pretty rough all day, but well enough to go - or so I thought. Prosecco on arrival, just a glass, and I even had water, which I usually eschew, due to it diluting alcohol. My Halloumi starter was lovely, and I was sandwiched between Ronnie, who I haven't seen in eons, and Muvver, who's a great laugh. Jenny, and Juliet opposite. All ebullient and well travelled, well educated women, the conversation was lively.

My main course arrived, lamb. I took a few mouthfuls, and knew I was going to be sick. I have felt nauseous for days now, due to the Champix, but this time, no, it was the real deal. I just about made it to the toilet before violently chucking up, repeatedly. I think I must've been gone a while, because everybody looked so concerned when I got back. More water, and half a glass of red, and that was me, done in.

I went straight to bed when I got home. Rod came round to feed the cats, but found the house already locked up.

This morning, I felt fine. Got up, dressed for work, had a coffee, and went to the front door, only to get that horrible feeling again. I didn't make it to the sink, and had to clear all that up. So far today, I've had a wee bit of toast and a little bit of cheddar. Plus water, and some lemonade. So far, so good. I've no idea if it's the Champix or a bug making me so ill, but either way, it's been vile.

This evening, he came and cleared more stuff away. It breaks my heart. It's my life being dismantled and taken away. And yes, I know this is what has to happen, but I hate every moment of it. It was my life, and he shouldn't have repeatedly shat on it and me.

So off they go, the unread books, the unwatched videos and the unplayed DVDs. Some things have gone from HH to here and back again. For what?

Oddly, in my delirious dreams last night, I thought I had run away to America to be with Juan and our son, except of course we don't have one. He was much better looking in the dream than he is in real life. No idea what's put him into my head, I certainly don't want to see him, he's a bloody Trump supporter!

Painting tomorrow, if I'm feeling up to it. The yellow I have is too lemony I think, I want something more yolky. The brown will take 2-3 coats to cover, I'll see what it looks like after that. The room looks pretty bare now.

My small salvation today has been Dr Fatso, who has curled up on, or with me, at every opportunity.

Hoping tomorrow will be better.


Call me Madam

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