You would think I have learnt my lesson in life and know that boarding a train with two six year olds, and one beautiful baby and heading into London can spell nothing but disaster.
You would think that, but it would seem that I actually seem to have an enjoyment of getting myself into situations where my face starts to flush and my stress levels begin to put pressure on the ceiling.
I woke up with a roar this morning; my mood filthier than a sailors language. Every bite the kids took of their toast followed by every excruciatingly loud wet smacking …
At times it feels like I am being punished by the big man in the sky.
Not content with sending epilepsy and ddh into my family it seems I have a new ailment to contend with. One that again doesn’t seem to have any cure.
I am a survivor, I bear the wounds of battle but I am still here.
I have a secret loathing.
In fact if I am true to myself it is verging on pure hatred, an emotion that I don’t often feel.