I am filled with rage at my missing lemon curd . It is all the fault of British Summertime ( if indeed this is the name of the clocks going forwards lark that upsets my body clock and has me sleeping in and losing my hour's reading time from 5 30 am till 6 30 which is mine, all mine ! ) Instead of waking as usual I am all out of synch and dreaming strange dreams and it is the alarm which wakes me at 6 45 .
I potter and stay in bed reading anyway till late as I have a day's leave , thus at nine am I am as I reach for my lemon curd I realise I have almond butter in my hand . Someone has moved my lemon curd and I move from slight irritation into rage . Pulling out the entire contents of the fridge I conclude that the lemon curd has either been binned by Someone in error ( not me ) or placed elsewhere in error ( possibly me ? ) where it will doubtless show up when safely out of date . I ring D at work to ask if he has any thoughts on the matter . Waiting in a local school to interview a headteacher , he sounds incredulous . Lemon Curd ? he says , and it is impossible for me to convey the tone of his voice , which is incredulous in most of his dealings with me even before I speak . Sometimes I think we are Opposites in every way . It doesn't matter , I say , dejected . And later , to myself in an undertone .... It will show up . I can eat my yoghurt with a smattering of linseeds and no lemon flavouring . It won't be the same but there you go . I was planning a day out but things came up . I am in martyrish mood and determined to enjoy it , every moment of it . I start to see the fun in being the martyr .
When he appears with a new jar for me I don't know whether to be suspicious or grateful .

Feckless?

Word of the Day for Friday March 27 2009
feckless / FEK-lis/, adjective
1. Ineffective; having no real worth or purpose.
2. Worthless; irresponsible; generally incompetent and ineffectual .

I subscribe to an online dictionary which as you see above delivers to my inbox a daily word with pronounciation guide and meaning . Usually these are words with which I am eminently familiar and I click on and click off without much thought . Occasionally the word is new and I look with interest but reflect that at my age I am unlikely to remember the meaning much beyond lunch .
Occasionally the word will hold a special poignancy or resonance .
Feckless for example . The name , if I remember rightly , given to one of the three cows in Stella Gibbons' wonderful novel Cold Comfort Farm . Feckless, Pointless and Some Other equally disarming name which might come back to me as I eat my fish and chips later . Or might need to wait till some kind reader reminds me .
Although feckless wasn't actually the word used by Miss Robson our hideous games teacher to fire at me when I couldn't find my place on the netball pitch after she had dished out the bibs with a mysterious GD ( goal defence ?)stamped on it , this was probably the word she was looking for . But although she doubtless ( Doubtless , was this the name of the third cow ? No I think not ) meant that I was pointless , the word she used was hopeless .... or useless , or maybe she said both . Either way , I still remember the feeling of utter humiliation . I think I'd like to have called her a cow . But cows are lovely gentle benign creatures and she was a bully of the first order . I would like to start a new paragraph here but hey ho .... Blogpost is agin me ..... perhaps my post is too long . My good friend Margaret Anne has three sons and her eldest , when just learning to speak , began to formulate ideas . " What are people for ? " he asked , and his mother was momentarily stumped . And probably not for the last time . After her simple description of what people are, he looked hard at her and said "No , but what are they for ?" It remains an excellent question . . My dad occasionally used to call me feckless , or more often "sackless" by which I think he meant largely the same thing . Roughly translated , I've asked you to do a simple task and there you are still sitting reading your novel .....There was a point to this whole post , which occurred to me last weekend and which spurred me to become involved with Human Writes . Of which more anon , when the para function returns ...... meanwhile I shall restore the guest room for the arrival of Auntie Laura tomorrow at the crack of dawn .

The Young Americans

Nat on pic 1 2nd from right in front row .

JR in pic 2

Nat and Craig Worsley ( from Asbro ) in Pic 3 . Mike 4th from left in back row. Pic 4

The Young Americans have been and gone ..... The Young Americans

We took delivery of our own two delightful boys JR and Mike last Monday evening , collecting them at the school and feeling like old hands having acted as host family two years ago and prepared in advance this year by stocking up ahead on food which was our main downfall last time . And , having suggested when the school rang to discuss " matching " issues such as pets and smoking , that they might wish to note that our attic rooms were of limited headroom and therefore guests of smaller stature may be more comfortable , we didn't keep our fingers crossed .

After all last time we stated we could only take a girl and were allocated two strapping lads . But no matter they were lovely lads ..... ( and Craig after all is almost famous now having been recently signed by Take That manager Nigel Martin-Smith Search for boyband member - Showbiz - News - Manchester Evening News...ASBRO: Cutting edge or cynical marketing exercise? Music guardian.co.uk see photo of him with Nat above .

So as we arrived at the school and glanced at the group of young people , I scarcely glanced at the smaller ones and yes, you guessed right , JR and Mike were perhaps two of the tallest guys in the group , and to Nat's absolute delight , certainly the "fittest" so we weren't about to complain .

The Young Americans is a not for profit organisation which brings the performing arts to schools around the world . Young people act as teachers and mentors to young people in schools over two or three days , working solidly to produce a show in which they all perform together for parents at a final performance ( ours was last night ) involving singing and dance . But the experience offers so much more . Pupils seem to increase dramatically in confidence via their involvement and are encouraged to think about life and the deeper emotional issues that affect us all . They speak about and express their emotions . For those of us who act as host families ( known as Homestay ) its also an opportunity for our kids to get closer to the Young Americans , to find out a bit more about their lives and to feel a bit more involved in the whole process . We learned this year about the aspirations of many of the Young Americans , to become performers ( like our Craig ! ) , to teach , and what better way to learn , or as a stepping stone into a wide range of other careers not immediately apparent but where broad horizons , travel and people skills are important .

We finally said goodbye this morning with a few tears ( on our part ) . I can't quite believe I won't hear " Hi Mom " and " Bye Mom " again from 20 year old boys twice my height .....

Good Luck in Japan Mike and Good Luck on Broadway JR .... that's where you're heading .....and as for Craig , and Asbro, well I don't think its the last we've heard of you either and it was great to see you again! Well done you!

Mother's Day ( UK ) unfolds without any concrete plans on my part . I set my alarm for six thirty " just in case " but , bliss I was awake well in advance and catching up on The Water Horse by Julia Gregson after a quick sweep out of the guinea pig pen and a listen at the door to see whether the teens were awake . A paper round beckoned P , Nat's friend and was the reason for the alarm call as I had offered a lift to the starting point at seven am . The piggies have really got the hang of that new Paradise pen now and seem to shuttle up and down the ladders with aplomb , reminding me of a swimmer at my hotel pool who does that wonderful power-walking-underwater ( the Dinosaur Walk to you and me ) only with raised elbows and pumping arms and a grim determined little smile -gritted teeth even -on her face as she pumps by . For my part , when I Dinosaur Walk , I go in slow motion , feeling this is part of the exercise's charm and dignity and besides , what is the point of whipping those wee little arms back and forth when the legs underwater are dragging slowly , pulled back by the forces of nature . Think of nature lady and take a chill pill I long to say , but desist . I myself after all am quite capable at rushing at speed on dry land , and can outwalk even quite tall men with long legs . And skinny greyhounds who puff along behind , making faces and then sighing into their cushions when safely esconced back on the sofa . " Its way too cold and windy for a walk today . Can't I stay at home and you go ? "

So , Mother's Day breakfast , and Nat presents me with an elegant bracelet from lebeado , tiny pink pearls , glass beads and pink crystal chips threaded on silver , and further lebeado vouchers . What a daughter !
After the paper round , during which time I head off for a swim , she and I go out for a coffee in Starbucks at Borders and set the world to rights . Sometimes her wisdom amazes me .
Later we see Slumdog Millionaire , a film I have avoided for some time for a number of reasons too complex for here ; in the event I am happy I see it on the big screen .

Jade Goody died this morning , the celebrity who "became famous for being famous "via "Big Brother". It angered me that even as her death was announced , in the next sentence the newsreader spoke of her " racism " towards Shilpa Shetty the Bollywood star whom Jade and other Big Brother celebs " bullied " during their time in the house . We all know what Jade did , surely on this , the day of her death a simple announcement would have been enough . I have no doubt that all aspects of her behaviour will be picked over ad nauseum by the tabloid press and the magazines we all love to hate (but can't avoid picking up and skimming through as we pass by ) in the coming days and weeks if the last few are anything to go by . Hopefully Jade's legacy will live on though , in that health centres are reporting young women attending for cervical smear tests as never before . My own GP practice nurse confirmed this at the end of last week .

And , one final thing , just when you think you've "dealt with/ managed/got through" your sister in law's death anniversary one more year ( this year will have been the third one . Surely it should get easier ? ) Crossing the car park and your daughter says out of the blue " Mum .... Siobhan's got no mum , and its Mother's Day ".

Video Conferencing ? Nein Danke!

Somewhat alarmingly , just as I am settling in my favourite old armchair with a nice cup of black coffee in a Kit Kat mug and a cute little two finger Kit Kat biscuit on the side , my mobile bleeps with a funny note I have not heard before . Deeply engaged as I am in an article about Mother's Day and how Olivia James 's husband walked out leaving her with two babies under three blah blah , I fail to check the phone for a while and Bleep , there it is again ....How could you , I think , (to Mr James), particularly as Olivia had been so happy to receive her first Mother's Day card when Baby One was six months old . The phone wishes to inform me I am out of range for video conferencing with ... who ... my sister ... ! Well I never ! ( And now blogpost wont allow me paras ... do bear with me , readers !! technology, eh ? ) Now I don't know about you but as I sit down on a nice sunny Saturday afternoon with the sun streaming in, the last thing I want is a video conference with anyone , though admittedly if it was going to be anyone my sister would be the most forgiving and lets face it , she has seen it all before , and indeed is due to see it all again next weekend when we have a Guest Slot Catching Up Weekend scheduled . But with my Kit Kats sprawled all over the place , cats on either side of me , my oldest dossing spectacles on , and at my feet a veritable dump of handbagges , phone chargers , satnav chargers , newspapers , colour supplements , Ikea catalogues ( yes I'm checking out those wardrobes already ) a tube of antibiotic cream rescued from the dog basket and thus rather chewed - for my poisoned left thumbnail , a diary , a things to do book , a pile of unattended mail , and in the far distance ( a foot away ) an overturned bin ( the cat's revenge ) , who would want to be seen on the other side of a video conference ? I should add that the rest of the room is impeccable , thanks largely to D's efforts . perhaps in response to my attacking the family bathroom shower tray and tiles with the toothbrush and lemon juice magic mix yesterday afternoon in a moment of madness , he has reciprocated with a full scale deep steam clean today . The windows have been done . The woodwork gleams , dust has been eradicated , my Witches Ball is shining and no longer spins on its thread with an inch of cobweb attached . The tv screen is once again visible . Should my phone change its tune and decide that video conferencing is within my scope I shall point the camera at the room and sit out of sight somewhere , gobbling my chocolate and revelling in my own private pigsty .

The Ides of March

Is this the Ides of march ?
A lovely spring day , and the piggies have got the hang of the ramp in their new piggy playpen and are elbowing each other out of the way to trot up and down from ground level to top floor and nesting box and whenever the mood takes them .
The new living quarters are a great success . I am delighted in that the pen can be cleaned on a daily basis without having to be lifted bodily outside and shovelled clean in a "deep litter , I need my painting gear on but can't be bothered to get changed so my DayJob clothes are going to end up spattered with Guinea Pig debris" sort of fashion . Now all that is needed is a duspan and brush , and hey presto once the coffee beans are ground and the coffee is brewing , assuming the pigs can be talked upstairs to nesting level by means of a cucumber chunk , the plastic tray and ground level can be slid out and brushed neatly ( well , ok neatly -ish ) into a waiting bin liner , and further sawdust added . Then , with Piggy cereal bowl slipped back into the dining room , the pigs come trotting down like Shetland ponies and the nest on level one can be scraped out into the waiting bag and once the cats are removed from the area ( they sit open mouthed watching the proceedings , aghast that pig cleaning takes precedence over cat feeding ) the kitchen floor can be restored to its former ahem glory with a bit of spray disinfectant just as the coffee pot bubbles itself full and D's croissants bake themselves to perfection in the microwave ( twenty seconds ).

You really wanted to know all that didn't you ? I'm over excited about the new gp quarters as you may have gathered , but really this is the fruition of months of planning .
Next on my list is a wardrobe so that my own quarters can be similarly cleaned and organised . If only I had a ramp ....

Guinea Pig Playpen ?

.. Or Total Institution ?

Alice the skinny dog looks on in disgust while we transform a flatpack box into a guinea pig paradise . Or such is our hope .

Our pigsters have been living indoors now for two years in a custom built plastic indoor tray style living space which whilst functional , has its disadvantages . To us , it looks boring . There is just nothing to it . No layers , nothing to play in , just a little house they can escape to and whatever we squeeze in there for them to chew and play with . We think overall they prefer the indoor life . Being very sociable creatures , they whistle and shout and squeal every time we come into the kitchen , especially when the fridge door opens and they stand on their back legs and hop if a snack is not forthcoming . The cats sniff them and the dog licks and the pigs come to the edge to greet all and sundry .

The biggest problem about the old living quarters for us was the cleaning . It needed to be lifted outside in its entirety to clean , so as the week progressed a sort of deep litter effect built up as we addded extra shavings and hay . Not pleasant .

Having looked after two rabbits last summer in the village and loved their posh house , and the fact that they could be cleaned each and every day , with dropppings and such cleared each day ( sorry , too much information , possibly ) , the hutch was always pleasant and the environment much better for the rabbits .

So , for months I've scoured the internet for just such a piggy-home . It needed to be two storeyed , with a nesting area for hay and privacy . A ladder or ramp between the two storeys ( so many of the hutches are for families with two rabbits but who wish to keep them apart ) . And , more importantly , the wonderful pull out plastic tray at the bottom for cleaning purposes .

D was reluctant to the change over on many counts . He was probably sceptical about my plans to clean the beasties every day ( though he wisely kept his counsel on this matter ) . His main concern was the fact that the new hutch , on closer inspection of the representations on the net , did not appear to have much of a " lip " at the front and he feared greatly for his clean kitchen floor , fretting that the pigs would take pleasure in flicking dust , sawdust , hay and assorted food debris out of the cage and onto the wood in front of them . As the only member of the household who would be bothered greatly by this , he predicted that he would be the man with the broom , sweeping on a four times daily basis rather than the current daily ( twice daily ? Who knows ? I certainly don't , not letting such things filter through as I read my novels , cook , blog , go about my own affairs. Oh yes and sometimes I Catcall and DayJob ) . I promise him I will Do More Sweeping if we can get the hutch and convince him on the basis that the piggies will surely love it and it will be a novelty for them etc etc .

So , he duly does all the hard graft of the ordering of the hutch and the staying in to take delivery and we finally put it together then wait for Nat to return from a shopping trip to witness the transfer of the Pigs to the new abode . With much snuffling and grunting they are helped onto the bottom level . Where they sit down .

After several minutes , disappointed , we help them in the direction of the ramps . Nothing . They are not keen . They are not climbing the ramp as they will need to do to reach their lovely hay filled bedroom , though their noses are twitching as they sniff the air . They love hay and indicate that they would prefer us to lift them up to the top deck . As we are in a rush now to see " Waterloo Road " we do so .

The following morning , the piggies are fast asleep in the bedroom , having made a cosy nest , and saying good morning as usual , I place their breakfast downstairs . They stand looking down the ramp and shouting , but there is no way they plan to step up to the plate . No way . These pigs are institionalised ! I hatch a cunning plan and place carrot circles down the ramp . Hedgehog , the more rotund and braver of the two , reveals her teeth and takes a step forward then retreats . Tinkerbell pushes her rudely out of the way , and turns herself round in the process . Go on Tinks I say ..... She makes a little hop down onto the ramp but sadly , in turning , is now facing backwards , so grabbing the carrot , she heads back up the ramp and into the bedroom . Pah !

I load my own breakfast tray and head back to bed . It is precisely 5 40 am . My day has begun .

Will the pigs be using the ramp by nightfall ? Or will we have to install a chair lift ? Answers on a postage stamp ......

Me and the Posh Lollipop Lady

Last night I went to the read- through of the late Julia Darling's The Taxi Driver's Daughter at the Live Theatre In Newcastle with my friend Liz (already introduced on this blog as the paper making friend) . However she is a woman of many talents and besides that of getting me out last night , she introduced me to an Icelandic friend Hermina and together the latter and I pieced together what was going on onstage , easy enough for me but slightly more tricky for Hermina who although fluent in four or five languages found the Geordie accent a bit hard to decipher as the evening wore on , and struggled at times to work out who was who as mother- in- prison transformed into maternal grandma and then into taxi receptionist ( with attendant cough) stopping off in the park as a school bully for a few minutes . And without the benefit of costume changes ..... and with Liz jet lagged following a gruelling work trip to New Zealand and Fiji and dozing off as the non existent curtain rose , it was down to me to help her make sense of it all .
I loved the play and will now need to get hold of the book .
Those of you who are interested enough to read the link will note that there is mention of Ellen PhetheanCatCalls: The Complex Passport Adventure and will recall that recently my sister and I stumbled upon her son's passport on the beach .... it is a small world . Julia Darling: The Taxi Driver's Daughter

After the play Hermina headed for home and Liz and I repaired to a local restaurant , where we sprawled on sofas and looked at photos of her trip in the viewfinder of her digital camera . As well as New Zealand she travelled to Tahiti and Fiji where her baby Ben was buried soon after his birth and I was able to see pictures of his grave and headstone , now somewhat weathered almost sixteen years on . I look back down a long dark tunnel to the middle of the night phone call when she rang to tell me her baby had died inside her and now had to be delivered . I do not presume to know how , or whether she coped , but she has always been a truly amazing friend .
As we stand up to leave , she puts on her various fleeces and her fluorescent cycling jacket over her clothes as her bike is tethered around a dark corner somewhere . A young couple who had joined us on the sofas perk up and the woman quips cheerily , " hey are you a lollipop lady , no you can't be you're way too posh " and on that happy note we leave .
Another weekend .

"Scruffy Tynemouth "

Scruffy Dog walks on Scruffy Beach !

The Times set me straight this week when in an article in the property pages denounced us as scruffy with the words "even scruffy Tynemouth is worth a look if you are thinking of decamping to the seaside and are in search of a bargain " , going on to describe properties available for £160,000 for a townhouse or suchlike . I confess I haven't yet come across them in my weekly scan of the market and suspect they are mixing Tynemouth with our neighbouring North Shields ( "A common mistake ", I think sniffily to myself as I push the Times away and wish yet again that we could afford a less Tory paper ( but for reasons I don't fully understand we are able to get it for free , something to do with vouchers and the like ... and with the gas bill at £550 a quarter a more or less free daily quality paper is not to be sneezed at ( except by me , loudly , when they castigate us as above ).

This morning I return from my 8am swim ( I may be boasting here but after a week doing nothing much apart from moaning about my head I am entitled to enjoy my new found burst of energy and parade it for all ) to find D tasked with assisting our neighbour in the transport of a large pot containing a tree from our house on the edge of the village to its new location in the heart of the village . As our neighbour is in her seventies and the pot although by now located on a trolley and thus , theoretically , mobile , this is no mean feat , and the two of them set off . I would have offered assistance but for the fact that I was waiting in for the plumber , coming to take out the loft room shower , newly fitted last week but found to be faulty . As they departed I felt I should have offered a packed breakfast and those fluorescent armbands we used to wear on the school walking bus . But that's another story .
D returns after an age with tales of Bett's heroism , her stopping the traffic in Front Street and the shouted comments from drivers ( all friendly ) as they waited for the pot to be pulled by the pair across the cobbles . I wish I had a photo for you all .
Later , after the plumber has departed and the shower is allegedly fixed , D and I take the dog to the beach . As we pass a magnificent double fronted mansion(ette) on Front Street D tells me of Bett's tale of her early morning walk earlier this week when she witnessed a police Dawn Raid . At 6am , as she passed by , a band of policemen flew at the door with battering rams and all manner of things and barged into the house . Tempted to stay and see how things developed she decided to keep walking in case of gunshots ( after all this is Scruffy Tynemouth ) and later heard on the news of a drugs and money laundering operation in the heart of the village . Well !

Meanwhile my burts of energy continues unabated and I wash curtains stained by the kittens of yesteryear .
If Laura is reading she will tell me I am Spring Cleaning .
Long Overdue .

And this week ....

.. things which have kept me going through it all , my lovely old fashioned coffee grinder . Even on the days when the head is particularly bad the thought of coming down to grind beans and set the machine off will get me out of bed , though the worse the head is the earlier I will rise . Poor D has become accustomed to waking to me crashing back to the bedroom with the tray loaded with his croissant and coffee ( weaker than he would make it ) and my cereal bar , at 5 45 am which is the earliest I believe I can get away with , though even if it were four I doubt that he would complain so mild mannered is he ( though I did hear a mini tantrum the other morning as the dog pushed him out of bed allegedly for the fourth time . I heard a thump as he landed and stamped off to the bathroom muttering to himself . The dog snores happily on as is her wont . Her position now as Top Dog largely unchallenged except occasionally by me she is very happy and regards life as just how she likes it .

On some days just the getting up and making breakfast and sitting up to read will lessen the pain in my head , sometimes even drive it away . On others it is not so simple .

But its always worth a try and the coffee grinder will remain a symbol of hope .

The room change has been startling . From Pink with spots to tasteful creams , all in the space of a day . The clutter clearing of a teenager's room that went before took two weekends and was a task and a half , all done now . The pictures show the room at its best , empty , though I notice a large skinny greyhound has made her way onto the bed for the tasteful shot . Wouldn't you know it ?

Early this morning two of my High Tension dreams . These have switched recently from the old "I have two exams in the morning and my lever arch files of papers ( history ) sit unopened" , and I am trying to dial a number, to call for help , on an old fashioned phone and I can't complete the dialling without my finger slipping off the dial .

The latest stress dreams seem to involve driving a car with my sister in the passenger seat and we are taking switchback bends on a scenic mountain road far too fast . I usually shout to tell her we are about to crash just as the car starts to spin and I wake .

The more scary one relating way back to my past involves a little black cocker spaniel . I am out walking , sometimes with Alice ( who is always very well behaved and could happily walk off the lead ) , and a little spaniel joins us . She is smaller than the spaniel I had in real life when I was eighteen ( until her death when I was around thirty one ) , but just as jolly . Suddenly she takes off as spaniels are prone to do , and runs out in front of a car . I watch , frozen , as she is in front of the wheels and they appear to engage with her . I stand still . Nothing I can do . The car stops and the dog runs out and on . She is alive and unharmed. The car reverses and I try to hand Alice on her lead to my sister who seems to be with me . I want to chase the spaniel and catch her and keep her safe . My sister refuses to take the lead from me and I wake . Maybe she knows something I don't , having not ten minutes earlier been almost decimated in a car crash by my good self .

Dreams ? Wierd eh ?

Morphine and Me

The respite alluded to in the last post wasn't long ( enough ), and by Sunday my head was neither slimy nor green any more . Migraine was fiery and red and throbbing and I had begun to give up all hope of managing the Day Job on Monday which was what had kept me largely away from the pain killers apart from a handful of what was rattling around in my bedside drawers and which had kept me sane since Thursday morning and indeed allowed me my weekly foray work wise into the children's secure unit and haircut/ head massage ( which may have exacerbated matters ) , and a lovely dog walk on Friday or was it Saturday .... But by Sunday enough was enough and I was at that stage of wanting to bash my head off a wall . Time to dig out the emergency doctor number or think about driving up to the hospital when I remembered a box of something morphine based I had left over from last September and my last stint in hospital .... I offer my usual warning to everyone in ear shot that I am now officially out of action for the duration mentally if not physically and try to avoid the looks which could mean anything from " You ? Youve been mentally out of action since 2006 when this all started for real " to .... well .... fill in the missing statements really . I'm not such a hot mind reader when under the influence of morphine .

I read the attendant leaflet like a good patient in case of any obvious contraindications . Somewhat sketchily really as I am seeing in duplicate and by this stage just want the stuff down my neck . Lurching back to bed I settle with a book pretending to myself I will read until the effects kick in . Its almost half a day before the head stops thumping , though the bang is less insistent and somehow more musical and altogether pleasanter and more manageable . Everything is more tolerable . In fact everything is rather lovely , as I drift off into a wonderful day trip on a pony and trap with the greyhound coming along for the ride . We are in heaven ....

Lawsy has a Slimy Greenhead ...

and mine has been green without the slime ...... I think ....

I still love reading the graffiti that people write on signposts and one of my favourites as a kid was ( as we passed through a little village / town in Northumberland called Greenhead ) "Lawsy has a slimy ( added to the top of the signpost ) Greenhead " . Another enduring favourite was a single cross bar added to the l in Shilbottle . I'll leave that one to your imagination .

But as I picture my migraines in colours , I can tell you that the reason for my lack of postings in these last few days has been due to my own green head . Yes , my head has been completely green for days , with the occasional red fire taking over .
Today was no exception , waking as I did at four am , but I seem to have a respite spell now .
Long may it last .
Something needss to change , though as yet I havent quite worked out what .
Answers on a postcard much appreciated .