Better off in Abersoch

I actually believe I could deal quite easily with retirement. A cottage by the sea; a cute little puppydog to walk on the beach; all the books I could read and then some. Yes, I think that would suit me just fine, or at least that's the conclusion I've come to after my weekend away.

Talk about a lovely time. It's funny, some people might think we're excruciatingly boring, after all we were tucked up in bed for midnight, but I don't care. I've had a lovely relaxing time and feel totally recharged (and a lot less healthier than I did before I left. We've eaten a lot of junk.)

It's been superbly low key. Village pubs and bottles of wine; hot chocolate on the beach; lazy mornings and early nights; sofa picnics; snuggling under blankets whilst storms rage outside; Ugly Betty; single track country roads; lots of reading and even more laughter. I'm so glad I went.
It makes me realise, times like this weekend, just how lucky I am to have the people that I do in my life. People that just get me. People I can laugh with and drink with and sit in silence and read with and visit places just because we like the sound of the name with. Friendship is valuable and once you find those people who you can relax and be your own quirky self with, well you should hold them tight and never let go. I'm lucky enough to have a handful of those people and I love them all, very much.

That is all.

I'm sensing a personal life here. Stop it, immediately. I need your giant head in the game.
- Wilhelmina Slater

So far this week has been nothing short of terrible. It's been one of those weeks where you wake up in the morning and even the light sneaking in through the gap in your curtains is grey and everything seems to go downhill from there. I'd quite like to take my cat and a patchwork quilt and some jelly beans and go and curl up somewhere with a good book and not come out again til I can be guaranteed that things will be better. Sadly, that is not an option. I must solider on. I need to suck it up. Fact.
How rubbish is that though? How utterly mind-numbingly depressing is it that when I am VERY tired and VERY busy and VERY short-staffed and therefore exceedingly grumpy I cannot just go and hide. I am like the Mr Kipling cake of grumpiness and I don't want to suck it up, thanks. I don't want to solider on. I want to go home and I want to wallow in the pile of s**t that is my life.


I think that what I might do, is take a leaf out of Wilhelmina Slater's book. She might be slightly more orange than a person should be but she takes no prisoners and whilst most people might despise her, everybody respects her. If Willy says do it, you do it. You do not sulk and grumble and walk out. The problem is that whilst I would like to be able to command some of that respect, I am aware that Wilhelmina Slater is a fictional person. She is not real. More's the pity: life would be much more fun if some fictional characters were less so....