Yesterday was one of those days......started perfectly.....breakfast of thick pancakes, with a vanilla flavoured dollop of something, and red berries and blueberries. And of course, a cuppa. And then the hair pulling distress started......we need a new bed, and we've known this for a month or two, but it took until tonight to get it sorted. Still, sorted it is, and it arrives on Friday. I'd found a bed that I really liked, but The Good Man was having none of it, as he thought the legs were too spindly. I said they weren't. But he was adament that they'd break, in a scenario that also involved him breaking a leg. I thought he was being a drama queen. He started grunting about the whole thing. And it's taken until now for me to remember that, a few years ago, he had earned the name 'bed breaker' This was due to a visit to a show home where he dropped, rather than sat, on a bed, and it collapsed. As did I, pissing myself laughing at his misfortune. So he may have had a point. But don't tell him I said that.

So come delivery day,  I think I'll take to my bed, wrapped in my pink alpaca blanket. That sounds confusing. I doubt the alpaca was pink. But the blanket is. It's so incredibly soft and light. Seeing it plonked on the bed, daughter number 4 was concerned that the Good Man had bought a pink poncho. I don't have much to say about that, except that thank f**k, she was wrong. She also proved to be very useful, as when she got in, I was suspended in mid air. I hate having a hoist, but today, even more so. I'd collapsed on the bedroom floor in a slow melting stylee, in perhaps the most awkward spot. I was in the house on my own, waiting for the Good Man to return from Birmingham, and collecting the Little Man from his friends. My legs were all tangled like a Betty Spajhetti, the floor was cold and hard, and my mood was not joyful. Back to me in the hoist.....I'm off the floor, suspended in mid air, trying not to lose my shit. The sling was bunched up and cutting in to me. I expected to hit the floor at any minute. Now, whilst I can't laugh about it, the feelings of shame have subsided. Actually, that's bo****ks. I do feel shame in how my body has let me down. But anyway, the Good Man needs to get some hoist practice in, so please make yourself known, if you're willing to be a levitating guinea pig.

And also step forward if you can help dismantle a bed, and put another one up.
The sounds of my house = daughter hoovering. Dog barking to announce arrival of friends.
Washing machine spinning.