What a week!

My father thinks he is dying. He's not dying, of course, he's just got a bug. I should know, because it's the one I'm still getting over which I gave to him.

The bug was nothing to the more recent problems of my lower back, and on Monday I dragged myself over to the doctors whilst still in my jimmers (It's only across the road but mummy darling threw a fit and said they'd lock me up for being mental). The subsequent visit to the osteopath informed me that it wasn't my back, but my pelvis was in the wrong place. Seems to be in the right place to me; bottom of my back, top of my legs and not sticking out my head or anything similar, but then I'm not an osteopath. That will teach me to go falling / get pushed* out of bed and then move house on my own as neither my mother nor Beloved would help me.

Wonky pelvis has meant not going into work on rush hour trains etc. as I can't stand up for too long or it will go wonky again after I have been having it put back in the right place. So, Friday morning I decided to drive into work. A brave decision since only a month or two ago little car blew up on the M3, but a chap came to mend it for me. Or so I thought.

Unfortunately, whilst I was on the A4 at the Chiswick roundabout, the little water light came on again. Cue me driving diagonally across 3 lanes of traffic into a garage and looking downcast at the steam emerging from under the bonnet.

Thankfully, some gorgeous man came over and knew what he was talking about. Mechanic who said he mended car hadn't as the core plug which shot out wasn't welded back in (It's a magnesium compound, you see..?)and the head gasket had now gone bang as well. Fuck. Knight in Shining Armour sorted out emergency measures for me and I had to drive it to scrap yard which a cabbie had informed me was nearby.

Off I went toward the car cemetery, and hit a load of traffic. Oh bugger. Decided to freewheel down the hill for a bit until the brakes stopped working and then stopped in a human cemetery until the traffic went. And it did. Very quickly. Strangely quickly. Directions in hand we drove on through the now clear roads until we discovered why. The road I needed to take (bear in mind I have about 3 miles before the engine seizes up) was closed because a cyclist had been in an accident and died. So we take another road, and luckily come across a place which offers to help me out. Thank god that little drama was over, and it was for the day also, apart from the man trying to run me over on Bruton place. Cock.

Preparing for a much calmer Saturday, I ventured up to Hampstead Heath for a walk with a friend of mine. A mere 300 yards into the walk, however, resulted in us seeing a man standing on the edge of a wooded area, having a good old tug of his boy-bits. Lovely! Being upstanding members of the community (perhaps that was the wrong phrase to use there) she called the police whilst I went to follow him. Strangely, he didn't rush off, just wandered around with his jeans around his knees, t-shirt pulled over his face, looking at us. He disappeared before we could properly follow him, across the road, but we did get a drive in the police car to have a look for the Wanker of Hampstead Heath and saw the sniffer dog at work.

And then England won the rugby, so all was well in the world.

So that's been me for the last few days! Am off to Lisbon this week for the IGC and the weather is looking lovely. Timmy has been giving me some hints and tips on what to do out there but of course, Brown-Bashing will be top of my agenda!

*jury is out on what actually happened