Has spring sprung?

Crystal clear really. I'm gonna scrub that man right out of my house. The minute the fat bastard is gone out come the chemicals, the scrubbing brushes and I'm off. Today I had help from all sorts of quarters and we got through wall and floor scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting, nine loads of washing, a thorough going over for the bathroom and the kitchen, furniture hauled about and cleaned behind, seven bags of rubbish collected together and put out for collection. I even started on the garden (well, I got outside, looked at it and began to draft a plan of action).

Most things can be done one to one-and-a-half handed, as I am discovering. I have to beware of under utilising my right hand while avoiding too much strain while the bones continue to knit. A fine line to tread.

The piece-de-resistance was making inroads into the slum that is his domain. Half of it has been largely cleared, vacuumed, dusted and washed down. Of course I've achieved that much by throwing and kicking the crap from the now cleard side on to the pre-existing pile on the other side. That's his problem for whenenver he gets back whether it be late tonight or early tomorrow. I left him a string of cups, glasses and mugs I uncovered that have stuff growing in the bottom, plus a severely shrivelled ex-carrot, as examples of what I don't expect to find in the bedroom of a self-respecting adult of 46 years. I threw away very little from his room (mostly cigarette packet tops - that bit of paper you have to rip at to get at the cancer sticks, and similarly obvious crap). I was quite diligent in gathering up the scattered loose change and putting it in a jar on his dresser - which I dusted and washed down. Oh, and I rescued a couple of my books which he's 'borrowed'.

Then we all sat down and ate a take away. Now it's back to just B and me, and she is up in bed asleep. I won't be far behind.

10 wicket defeat today, bloody hell! Hand aches, so that's it. Feels good to be back-ish. Hello, everyone and good-night.

Not 'armless, let alone fingerless

Lots and lots and lots of thoughts. Most of them scribbled on pages of a note book I've kept close to my chest (and stressed deeply that he'd find - a big reason for starting this damn fool thing). Most of them nearly illegible for being written with my left hand when I'm naturally right handed. Didn't know that about me before this.

Thought one. Never allow yourself to be operated on by a surgeon who doesn't share your sense of humour. Mine didn't appear to be amused when I joked as I went under that 'at least I'd broken it accidentally', which I like to think is why the second op (the one after the first quick job when the swelling went down) wasn't a success and I had to have the bones re-set; something that involved re-breaking them. So that's three times in total.

And you were wondering why I hadn't been doing much typing?

This time off hasn't been a complete waste though, because I've nailed the stupid cow he's currently stringing along.

Difference is this one's a harder cookie than the last one ... doesn't want kids and rather likes her independence thank you very much. She's also a short, rotund grandmother of three. And I think she knows I know. And I think she knows that I'm pretty sure she knows I know.

KEEP UP.

So the pair of us get on quite well actually, now that she's got over the shock of realising she's said something she couldn't possibly have heard except from him, and that it was exactly the sort of thing a husband would know but would only share with a part time bed buddy.

My only gripe is the same one I had with poor sad deluded Beth (aka The Phool from Philadelphia) ... why isn't she woman enough to get him to work up the guts to actually GO.

We had a full moon recently ... yes we really did. I checked in the paper to make sure I wasn't imagining. Last time I mentioned that I could see a purrfect full moon through the window next to me I had some damn fool dickhead from Yorkshire posting gibberish ... insulting gibberish at that.

Probably don't get much else from yorshire folk. Should have said that at the time. Darren Gough thought he'd need to pack his PJs for this spring's trip to the Carib. On that subject we've won th'ashes and thrown away the one day series that followed ... poor team selection and hubris. Though Shane Warne's blaming the coach - then Warnie thought he was eating smarties when he got caught doping himself!

What else.

He's fucked off to Ireland with his mother for a funeral. There's a very accurate piece of bio for him to fasten onto if he can be bothered. So B and I have a couple of girlie days home.

My hand?

It's early days. I knew from a few days after the initial injury I'd probably never recover full mobility and dexterity and that I'd probably always be able to 'feel' it. The scarring's quite livid, although they did get someone in to tidy things up so the fingers are now straight and I'm told the lumps will go down. (That's the lump's where the bone came out, since you asked.)

My mood has been more erratic than ever. I've never had down days before like the ones I've had in the weeks since Christmas. For some reason I feel better tonight than I've felt in a long while (did I mention that the Fat Bastard is away?). I've got Breakfast in America on, having stumbled across it during a bit of a tidy up. Right now it's playing Crime of the Century.

Brings back strange memories of my first boyfriend, who was the son of a former high school geography teacher, who I later found out was the sister of someone very, very famous. Typing few fingered is exhausting.

Thanks for reading to then end of this and hello to you. Have a good life. It's the best you can do.

I'm off to bed.