crikey

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Am not really getting the hang of this blogging thing.  Well, I am, I come up with lots of thought-provoking-insightful-amusing things to write about…and, then, it’s time to burn the fish fingers or do my  pelvic floor exercises and the bon mot gets forgotten about.

Shame, my not-written-blog posts are blardy marvellous.  You’d have liked them.

Rest assured, I’m on a roll.  Got lots of thoughts.  Most of which, predictably, relate to pelvises.

Have totally failed to tidy the spare room today – but, I did get the first chapter of my book scraped together.  Literally scraped, as most of it’s scribbled on the back of sweetie wrappers, bus tickets and slightly fermented hankies.

In other news – I went on a colo-rectal course (I learned that pooing is a lot more complicated than you’d think) and need to practise finding the anatomical landmarks.  Mr Grips has previously extorted child-free time in return for his volunteering as a back and neck model…

So, the other day, he’s distracted with something “important” on the ipad I asked

“I wasn’t sure about finding obturator internus after that course, would you mind me having a poke about later?”

“mmm, eh?  Oh, ok”

He’s not quite realised that it’s a “glove and gentle” job.  That’s ok, isn’t it?  Still counts as informed consent, right?  Hmmm.  This is going to cost me.

Still.  Budge over, JK, I’m writing a book.

Crikey.

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