Why I haven't blogged

“You don’t blog anymore.” 

“When are you going to blog again?” 

People (okay, two of them) keep asking me this and, really, the answer is very simple.  I really don’t have anything much to say.  Seriously, my life is so boring, reading about it would be the literary equivalent of watching the proverbial paint dry.

See, right now I’m sitting at my desk, writing my agony aunt column for Natural Health magazine. It’s so cold that I am wearing the following: thermal vest, jumper, fleece, James’ old body warmer/gilet thing; jeans; knee-high boots; James’ bobble hat; fingerless mittens (thanks Zoe!); fleece dressing gown (over legs); plus (obviously) bra, pants, socks (two pairs).  I bear a rather unfortunate resemblance to a Womble or a Victorian invalid swaddled up in a bath chair. 

‘You need a pipe,’ said String on Twitter. 

‘I need a heated keyboard and mouse,’ said I.  And actually, wouldn’t that be wondrous? 

‘You need a small modern house with good insulation,’ said the uber practical Em.

But really, the house can be warm as toast. Yesterday I threw caution to the wind (and probably a shedload of money out through the gaps) and had the heating on. It was bliss. Total, utter bliss.  So blissful in fact that I clean forgot I don’t drink alcohol and downed a bottle of wine out of sheer joie de vivre and warm fuzzy thoughts, stumbled around a bit and promptly fell asleep at 9pm or thereabouts. 

But that was Sunday, oh feckless reckless weekend feeling. Today was back to austerity.  Getting up at 6.30am in the cold and dark possessed its usual lustre of…er…beige.  Usually it takes me about half an hour to summon up the wherewithal.  Today the SP rather helped matters by making retching noises from the bed so I literally hurtled him downstairs and outside before even realizing I was standing stark naked and freezing cold at the door. 

And then we took James in to see the doctor cos he’s got yet another problem. This time apparently it’s Osgood-Schlatter disease (aka tibial tubercle apophyseal traction injury or epephysitis of the tibular tubercle) (yeah, I know...apparently they used to call it simply growing pains). And then Adrian said he’d treat me to a coffee and an almond croissant at Costa Coffee and so we sat there and stared gloomily across the table.  And the croissants were stale and the coffee (decaf capucchino) was kinda luke-warm but neither of us could be arsed to complain. And by then the health shop over the road had opened so I went over and bought a packet of tofu (basil flavoured), a packet of spelt flatbreads and some agave syrup (nice on porridge).  And then we drove back (in the caved in car) and then I piled on the layers and got to work. 

And there you are. And there you have it. A snapshot of my life. 

And that’s why I haven't blogged. :-)