Billygean.co.uk

Moved

2010-01-23T22:04:00.004Z

This blog is now at:

http://www.billygean.co.uk

(actually, it was all along but I moved my hosting to wordpress. Bye blogger!)

Problems

2009-01-18T14:25:00.002Z

Sorry about this. Blogger seems to have issues with me.

Tried to upgrade so I could add in an xml new beautiful template, pointed all the right bits to right places, didn't show, didn't allow new posts. Have converted back to classic blogger and it works fine. But is boring template.

Any suggestions?

In the gluten free takeaway

2009-01-16T23:00:00.003Z

"Oh we have to go out tomorrow," I say to MindReader in the takeaway.

I am quite hyperactive of late, something to do with having a bad cold that didn't affect my energy levels at all, returning to revising and complaining about NORMAL things people complain of like washing up and buses being late, and obviously impending moving.

"Why?"

A 70s disco type song comes on the radio. I stand up. "So we can boogie".

His eyebrows raise.

"Sorry - forget that," I say. "I seemed to have a relapse and thought it was the 90s for a moment."

Scenes from Tamworth

2009-01-13T21:32:00.002Z

Woman and two children get on bus.

"I'll have three child singles please."

***

"Er excuse me?" I call down the shop, my woolly hat dropping down over my eyes so I have to tilt my head back. "Is this cash machine working? The sign is sort of half on the machine..."

"I dunno, I only just got here didn't I?" TeenageShopKeeper says.

"Oh right..." I say.

"Just try it. Worst that can happen is it can swallow your card, yeah?"

I didn't really fancy that.

News!!!!

2009-01-10T23:38:00.003Z

Oh, hi!

I know, I know I said I'd write about new year but I've actually been busy!

Here's what with:

MindReader and I have found a flat and are moving out! It's a stone's throw from my college should body break again, and it's BEAUTIFUL although unfurnished which justified the following trip to Ikea:

Including Colin the Crocodile draft insulator, a treat when I got VERY TIRED OF THE WHOLE FURNITURE THING about halfway round.

And now announcing - the flat!

Bathroom

Living room

Kitchen

We're moving end of January but I promise I will update some more very soon!

2009-01-06T17:03:00.000Z

"Yeah it was so good," MindReader says to MadFather over fish and chips. "They used gluten free batter and kept everything separate... We'll have to come back after we've moved out," he says, squeezing my knee.

I smile faintly, staring at my food.

"What's up with you?" he says,

"Nothing," I say. "I've worked all day and moaned about it, I have fish and chips, coke and everything I could ever want."

Blogger is BACK hurrah

2009-01-04T12:54:00.002Z

Oh my God.

It appears blogger broke. I did not enjoy that experience.

So. We went to Cornwall and it was perfect, really (post below). AND energy wasn't really a consideration. Since coming back I seem to have picked up a cold but it hadn't (yet - touch wood) done what the last one did to me, I feel fine really, and we're supposing the other thing was the wheat given that I have been gluten free for 6 weeks since and am finally no longer ravenous to the point of fainting when I wake up.

MindReader and I must begin flat hunting in earnest now and we are going to the IKEA sale next week (which, if I think about this close to bedtime, I can't sleep!). Have been revising and it is not the dreamy, studying by a rainy window experience that I thought it would be, but more a chore that I feel guilty about not doing and I feel guilty about doing in case I tire myself out. C'est la vie.

We went clubbing for new year which I will update about shortly, and on new year's day I made disastrous cabbage.

Bappy 2009.

TESTING

2009-01-04T12:52:00.000Z

TESTING

2009-01-03T13:21:00.001Z

test sigh

Test

2009-01-01T19:13:00.007Z

Test

Looe

2008-12-30T21:29:00.008Z

He took me to Cornwall.

"Well!" he said as we unpacked our stuff in the tiny, wifi-equipped, sea-facing self-catered (thereby ticking all my boxes) flat. "What shall we do first?"

I thought for a moment, looking out of the window at the waves rolling further and further up the beach. I opened the door, my heels sinking into the sand and the sea air stinging my lips. "I think I'd like a snog on the beach," I said.

And so we did.

MindReader and the bottom

Wild hair

MindReader, looking much stockier than he is because of all the layers...

Me wearing unsuitable shoes

And unsuitable headwear

Climbing :) my thighs hurt so much the next day (and still do) but THE ROOM DIDN'T SPIN THE NEXT DAY :)

Woodland creature

The belt holding in the belly of gluten free fudge

Chasing sheep on Bodmin Moor. They did not want to be cuddled.

Out to dinner. A gluten-free success once I told them not to rub the fish in wheat flour or to use malt vinegar. And then they poured croutons all over my meal.

This morning

In a lovely pub

Merry Christmas

2008-12-26T00:12:00.005Z

MadFather raises his glass to toast. I lift up my gluten free orange squash.

He tilts his head at my glass. "Better than last year?"

I consider it. There is so much I cannot have, and cannot do. Sometimes the future stretches out before me in an endless run of reading labels and talking slowly to waiters and never having cake.

Last year, although I had enough energy, I spent the whole day on the sofa unable to eat because I felt so nauseous.

Sometimes, though, no matter how much perspective I have that it is better not to eat wheat than to be bedirdden, I simple wish those weren't my choices.

I clear my head.

"Yes," I say. "Even if I sometimes lack energy, I feel good."

"Actually, you wouldn't know you were sick, now," he says.

I think back to the past few days. An endless run of shopping and cooking and laughing.

And it's true. I clink my glass with his.

The life of a coeliac

2008-12-22T13:30:00.001Z

"And is this... mint sauce okay?" I say to my Nanna's husband.

"I'll just get the jar."

I read the label. Spirit vinegar, fine, soya lecithin, fine... "Oh it's fine," I say, and spoon some onto my meat.

"I just added malt vinegar to that," he says.

Oh shit.

Photos:

2008-12-21T19:49:00.003Z

So I went to the wedding. And I was fine. 1:30 - midnight sitting, congratulations body. I then slept for 14 hours and have had about 6 main meals today but that's fine. I also fed some penguins at a zoo and met a lot of my relatives' animals (which resulting in much whining to MindReader: why can everyone else have cats and not us? we then received a JOINT VOUCHER for Christmas which he suggested we spend on something for our flat, I nearly came, squabble over).

Photos:

MadFather dancing

The day after, with my Nanna's dog Tara. Not feeling too shabby :)

Simba, one of my Nanna's cats

Walking

MindReader and Atacama, my auntie's 5th cat

Me and Atacama

I got a feeding the penguins present in February last year. I haven't gone til now for obvious reasons.

And finally... That which renders me bedridden. How can something so beautiful...?!

Fixing me

2008-12-19T23:07:00.002Z

Well.

I'm feeling quite a bit better. Wheat has once again been eradicated from my kitchen. Went to college on Wednesday which was incredibly bizarre but in a good way, and went shopping for three hours yesterday and I felt - dare I say it - well!

I'm going to a wedding tomorrow on my Mum's side of the family, although she's not going - go figure - and it's an early start which will no doubt anger the glands.

Am wearing a beautiful red dress and MindReader has been told to wear a red tie. He's finished work for Christmas now until 31st when he's doing half day.

We have so much coming up this week and it is a time for reflections. Last year I was energetic enough to sit up all day on Christmas day but I felt so sick; throwing up for no reason and so on. This year I sometimes have no energy, but that is slowly going, and, more important, I feel healthy. We have this wedding, Christmas, our holiday and then new year, and I'm so pleased my body is (at last) letting me enjoy it.

So going to dr next week to get diagnosed...

2008-12-17T16:13:00.003Z

"How're you doing?" Cousin says to me.

"Oh, alright," I say. "I got really well and then - I don't know - some sort of flu but that was a month ago and I'm still not right..."

"Oh right," he says. "Strange. And how's the wheat?"

"Well I reintroduced wheat, but took it out again when I got that gastic flu thing..."

He pauses for a moment, the phone line crackling. "So you reintroduced wheat and then you got ill?"

I think. "I suppose so."

"Were you like - ravenous?"

"Yes but illness uses up energy..." I say, feeling the donuts slipping away from me.

"Ravenous is very celiac. Light headed?"

"Er, yes..."

"My blood test was negative too," he says. And if I eat wheat I get tired and ravenous."

"Have I had enough wheat - to do that sort of damage? It was only four days' worth," I say, omitting that I also had 7 chcolate oranges, out of shame more than anything.

"Yes," he says immediately. "I wouldn't eat wheat ever again if I were you."

And something slides into place in my mind.

And - although no donuts - no more unexplained sickness, either.

MindReader in our living room on Friday Night

2008-12-16T13:35:00.001Z

I mean, really, have you ever seen a finer male specimen?

On understatements

2008-12-15T18:11:00.000Z

"What's happened is your tear glands were affected by this..." the consultant looks at his sheet "glandular fever that you say you had a while ago. So now your cornea doesn't renew itself."

"Right..." I say. "What does that mean?"

"Just that you need to use these drops 8 times a day."

"8!"

"Yes, they're quite dry. I've not seen anything like this really. Tell me - did the glandular fever affect you otherwise?"

I almost laughed.

Your auto update

2008-12-15T17:58:00.003Z

Right. Hello. Sorry, sorry, I have been BUSY.

Body is not back to normal yet. In fact just on Thursday it protested about me sitting up for two hours in the MORNING God forbid and attached invisible weights to my arms and legs for the rest of the day. Getting someone else to wrap my presents - not good.

Went to MindReader's work 'do on Saturday and managed to sit up from 7 until (ahem) 2 in the morning so that is something, although body did then do some protesting on Sunday. Sat up on way home and then needed a lie down. Felt better after 5 minutes and sat up all evening (?). What a strange thing.

Dashed about today in fit of ridiculous behaviour. Had to go to optical hospital (more on that later). Got a return at the bus stop. Went to hospital. Everybody was 80. Then got on bus home but went via Boots to get contact lenses now I can wear them again. Bought a single because was on phone to MadFather and had lost return. Asked man on bus when next bus home was and he said "you should have got a return. I'm driving the next bus anyway and it's at 4:25."

I nodded along even though I HAD a return because I am a liar and realised would probably not use it lest he question me about my web of lies.

Got into Boots. Realised prescription for eye drops WASN'T redeemable in all chemists like the consultant told me so waited at bus stop for bus BACK to hospital. I know April-Gilly would have LOVED to get buses everywhere but honestly - this was a bit of a pain.

No bus arrived FOREVER. Went into Asda and bought some shoes. Felt a lot better.

Rang taxi to take me to the hospital. Realised was unlikely to wait for the bus again. It comes once an hour. The odds weren't good. Asked taxi driver to wait for me. prescription took FOREVER and taxi driver came INTO THE HOSPITAL and started SHOUTING at me about how I was paying waiting time. Silly me!

Got taxi home. Cost me £19. Plus original return of £3.50. Plus the single at £1.80. Plus the sympathy shoes that stopped me crying at £15 (I know! bargain!)

SO. That was today. COLLEGE are bothering me. I emailed them to ask what to revise and what not to revise because the law has changed. They emailed back saying I MUST attend a three hour lecture this Wednesday from TEN A.M. What happens at ten a.m? I have NO idea. Anyway, it can't be that vital because I contacted them after all. Said I'd had a bug and I'd been in bed for a year afterall. Nobody batted an eyelid and I got what felt like an automated reply telling me it was 'absolutely necessary' I attend and that it's all on slides so no need for note taking. I'm not sure why they think note taking is difficult. It's the bus. And the not sleeping. And the 4 hours in college. NOTE TAKING I can do.

Right.

Have since emailed back and said could they email me the lecture notes since they were 'all on slides'. Have said I compromised my health in January and it didn't exactly end well. I await their snotty replies.

Sadly we did not uncover a culinary flavour pairing

2008-12-12T13:02:00.003Z

"What's happened?" MindReader says, coming in the back door from the outside freezer bearing frozen mince.

"Meh," I say. "How do you know...?"

"The way you were standing. As soon as I saw through the window I knew something was up."

I smile and gesture to the potatoes I am cutting up. "I was just making our coffees on the chopping board -"

"Of course. Sensible."

"Anyway now the potato chips are coffee flavoured."

MindReader smirks. "Don't move," he says, as I smear the coffee further into a potato.

He gets a sieve and boils the kettle and begins to wash the potatoes.

"Is this how you imagined living with me?" I say.

"Pretty much exactly."

I'm actually quite proud!

2008-12-09T17:49:00.002Z

"Hello?" OldestFriend says into her phone.

"How do I wrap a circular tub?"

"What??"

"How do I wrap a circular tub."

OldestFriend laughs for quite a few seconds. "Oh God Billygean," she splutters. "I have no idea how to describe this to you."

OldestFriend is an interior designer and got me through the mandatory art exam we had to sit by giving me a template. I got her through physics by making an anal revision table on excel.

"I know," I half-wail.

"Okay - roll the tub up so the paper's around it."

"Oh! I had it on top of it..."

"What were you going to do with it?!"

"Just - cover it in paper!"

"Like a collage?"

I laugh. "Exactly."

"So you roll the paper around the tub..."

"Like - so - like it's a hat and the tub is the head?"

"What?"

"Oh never mind..."

"Anyway - then when you've finished - like - fold a bit of the top down and the rest will follow... DO it neatly though and make sure they're not too big..."

"Oh God," I say. "This sounds very Blue Peter and I am not very Blue Peter."

"You'll be fine!" she said falsely.

"I'll send you a photo of how it goes."

I ended up holding it with my feet and sticking my hand to it.

On encounters at college

2008-12-08T17:20:00.003Z

I sit in the college library, waiting for Future Law Firm people who I should not be blogging about.

It smells just the same; of books and computers and tiredness. The last time I was in here was February the 17th when I walked out of my exam, too sick to care, and cried in the library as I emailed OldTutor.

I spot a familiar face, an Old Housemate, who approaches me.

"Billygean?!" He says.

"Yes..." I say. Am I that changed?

"Sorry -" he says. "The hair and glasses confused me."

And the smug air of someone having come through a chronic illness, I think to myself.

"How have you been - weren't you a bit ill earlier in the year?" he says.

I smile to myself. "Yes I was," I say.

Praying I don't imagine ill feelings because it is the same route

2008-12-08T15:26:00.002Z

Right.

I went shopping yesterday and the world didn't end. I didn't feel great but I got in and did not crawl to the sofa but chatted to MindReader and showed him my new bath stuff I had acquired over the weekend and made a few drinks.

So not all bad.

Today I am meeting the trainees that will be working with me in Future Law Firm. I have done this once before so let's hope that this year I actually end up working with them.

I do not feel fantastic. But I rested and it didn't seem to achieve much. And sometimes the body needs to be pushed. Either way, this illness has held me back from so much that I think I just really need to do this.

MindReader is going to bring me home afterwards. To get there, I am getting on the same bus and walking the same route as on Friday (day of sugar bags on head doom feeling). So I will probably twitter from the bus to update you all.

Wish me luck!

Moaning

2008-12-06T13:40:00.003Z

Well. Yesterday was a bit of a disaster. I haven't got my body SO WRONG for quite a while.

Felt okay post-Coldplay. Got taxi to hairdresser but felt fine so got bus home. The next day we were due to be seeing Romeo and Juliet in Stratford. MindReader is an Early Person (the kind that wring their hands if they don't have at least 2 hours' leeway for unexpected events) so I decided to get the bus into Birmingham to meet him after work to save him driving home. Blah blah.

Got to bus stop. Ran for bus. Was wrong bus. Paced around. Realised was on wrong side of road. Crossed road. Paced around. Felt a bit fuzzy but it wasn't getting any worse and believe me THE BODY makes it much worse when it wants to be heard. Got on bus eventually. Sat for an hour smirking to self about how I WAS WELL and imagining what type of plants MindReader and I are going to have in our flat.

Got off bus. Almost fell on road. Felt was floating. Staggered to MindReader's office. Felt like had 6 bags of sugar on top of head. That is the best way I can describe it.

Begged him to bring car to me even though car was a 4 minute walk away. Lay down in car all way to Stratford. Felt no better (very unusual).

Sat up for play, slumped against MindReader. Thought was going to die when someone asked me to stand up to get past me. Was aware this is unreasonable behaviour.

I should be pleased. I couldn't walk four paces the other day let alone get a bus and run around. But I imagined I was therefore fine, and I am not. Still, I think I would rather err on the side of doing too much rather than moping around being too scared to do anything.

But... It is now Saturday, and I'm not sure what to do, and I am alone. And sometimes I just think - god - imagine having a job and being able to go out without thinking about it. Internet, it has been so long that I cannot even imagine it.

A series of text messages

2008-12-06T13:39:00.003Z

Me: Morning... How're you? How is home? xx

MindReader: Okay thanks, and you? xx

Me: Good - my Lush parcel arrived :o)

MindReader: I know, I took it from the postman. Nipples unexposed.

When you feel so tired that you can't sleep / Stuck in reverse

2008-12-04T18:46:00.005Z

Fix You thumps out of the speakers, the guitar strains sounding more beautiful live than I have ever heard.

And I will try... to fix you the audience sings, me and MindReader included.

"Exactly," Chris Martin says.

And I got what I wanted. They took me out of my own body for a while.

On nipples and concerts

2008-12-03T17:05:00.005Z

Siiiigh.

My body remains a drama queen, a stuck record. Who could imagine a teeny tiny bout of flu could cause SUCH an overreaction? Indeed, just ONE of my many neck glands has gone enormous in some sort of protest of martyrdom. The others haven't joined him yet, and I am pleased they are sticking up for themselves.

I have rested completely for 4 days. I am VERY BORED obviously and so Crazy that I showed my nipples to the postman today and I don't even know if I did it on purpose or not.

I probably should explain that. I was just coming-to after the sweet harmonies of the binmen throwing glass around when the doorbell rang. I realised it would be the postman hopefully bearing a beautiful red headband with a bow on the top. I shot out of bed, put dressing gown on, and sprinted down the stairs (and at this point I usually get 5 or 6 emails asking me why can I sprint and yet I still live off the government? The answer is that I lie down for 8 hours after I sprint, and I deem headbands to be worth this because I place disproportional amounts of joy on parcels from ebay). Knocked on window halfway down the stairs to let postman know I was coming - WAVED, because I am mad - and then realised dressing gown was wide open.

ANYWAY.

I am going to see Coldplay tonight, because, in my mind, cancelling concerts EQUALS nine months of bedridden-ness will follow. So I am going and dealing with The Fallout later.

Hope they play Politik.

Yes, looking at old photographs because I have no energy for anything else

2008-12-02T16:18:00.006Z

I hold the photo up to the light.

With a start I realise it is my mother.

She is wearing a skirt. This is virtually unheard of for the cold woman I know today.

My sister is about two in the photo; I wasn't alive, so the changes my mother went through hadn't happened yet.

My sister's arms are stretched to the sky, my mother's hands reaching down to hers, just a fingertip touching.

Everything about the photo; the way her slender body is turned to my sister's, the smiling glint at the camera, the carefree drips of raspberry ice lolly onto the sand, are completely different from how our lives turned out.

For the first time in my life, I briefly think I wouldn't have minded getting to know this woman.

On my novel

2008-12-02T01:09:00.002Z

I didn't finish the Novel in November.

I got a little distracted with theorising why my body broke again and thinking reasons for it to be temporary. It does little for your motivation.

If I write 1,202 words a day in December I'll finish it.

I just added a little scene in at about 20,000 words, and as I read over some of the pages, I thought -

Shit.

It might even be good.

On cars. Or, hookers

2008-12-02T00:36:00.002Z

"And do you still see Smithy?" MadFather's friend says.

I am sitting next to MindReader on the sofa, trying to pretend I don't feel dizzy just from sitting up. That's the thing, when you've told people you've pretty much recovered.

"Not seen him for ages," MadFather says, sipping his tea.

"What car's he driving now?" MadFather's friend asks.

"I saw his profile picture on Facebook," I say. "It seems to be of his and some family - even though he was single?"

"I think he's got an Escort," MadFather says.

"He what?" I say.

"No no no," MindReader says, putting his arm around my shoulders and grinning.

"What's funny?"

"Billygean - er - took the other meaning of escort..."

Re my health: I can walk to post a letter but I feel light headed when I do it. Not sure what this means

2008-11-28T18:06:00.004Z

I take a deep breath, and knock twice on the door.

A glass milk bottle rolls over in the wind and I wrap my cardigan tighter around me.

No answer.

Next door but one's cat approaches. He rolls over and starts kicking his front legs with his back ones. I smirk, stroke his belly, he tries to bite me, and I walk off.

I stop and turn slowly around. "You'll do," I say, and, looking around me into the dark night, I pick the cat up and bring him into the kitchen.

I place the envelope in front of him and point to it. "Lick it," I say, because I talk to cats.

In case you were wondering envelope sticky bits have gluten in.

I put some cheese on the envelope and the cat eventually licks it off pretty thoroughly. There. Done.

Update!

2008-11-26T22:55:00.005Z

I've been waiting until my body gave me the verdict until I blogged. But the jury's still out I suppose. And the reader emails have started coming...

On Sunday we went to the NEC Festive Fair and I felt pretty awful (but did buy a beautiful necklace with matching hair slides). Still, lots of fat people waited in the queue for the bus back to the car (it's a big place) and we walked.

Monday I as predicted felt awful and went and moaned at my doctor who asked me for legal advice.

Tuesday my glands went huge and freaked me out and I sent a few hysterical texts.

Today was the first day that I woke up and didn't feel ill, but I got dizzy (like August dizzy) BAKING for ten minutes!

Fingers crossed for tomorrow; I hope it passes. I have more faith that it will, for some reason, being buoyed up by MindReader and MadFather and realising I am not in the same place as I was in March.

In other news, the beautiful dress does not FIT. My rubbish top-heavy boobs show. Not appropriate for my first wedding since July.

So I am on the hunt for a dress again. I am thinking this one - thoughts please?

In OTHER news (relapse dependent!) MindReader is taking me on HOLIDAY for my Christmas present. 27th - 30th December, in UK, coastal, near gluten-free restaurants is all I am told!

On relapses

2008-11-22T15:35:00.004Z

It's amazing how quickly you remember.

I fall back into old habits so easily: crying in the bath, canceling plans, bargaining with the Gods.

None of it works, of course.

Putting my socks on once again exhausts me, and I leave my hair unbrushed because there is something wrong with my arms again.

I got to November, I think, as I lie in the bath. Would it be worth it - three months of health for every nine months of fatigue?

The hope that this is a bug, a blip, brightens as I think about the last few days. I have felt sick, and so has MadFather. Maybe it will go soon - tomorrow, the next day - and I will forget this whole sorry episode. But then I remember how I felt in March - just the same; the aches, shaking hands, too exhausted to make drinks - and the hope fades to grey.

Credit crunchies

2008-11-20T16:57:00.004Z

"Right, I should go now," OldestFriend says, standing up. "I've got to clean out the hamster before I can start dinner!"

"Okay, it was nice to see you," I say.

She pauses at the door. "Just so you know," she says, "the hamster is not what we're having for dinner."

Probably because I told college I was definitely going back

2008-11-20T15:19:00.003Z

"And how do you feel?" MindReader says, on his daily lunchtime phone call to me.

"Tired," I said.

"What type?"

I smile.

For there is the type of tired when I haven't had enough sleep. Where thinking feels like wading through mud and waves of sleepiness sweep across me.

There is the type of tired where I have overdone it the previous day and my body feels three times heavier. That's the crawling-to-the-toilet type of tiredness.

There's the tiredness where I feel drunk, where I manage to stumble, unseeing to the kettle. Often results in sitting on the floor while it boils.

There's the constant head-rush feeling that lasts til 3pm on a bad day and then mysteriously disappears. What are you trying to tell me, body?

There's good old chronic fatigue, feeling normal until those warning signs kick in, my vision shifts, and I have to lie down there and then. Even in Sainsburys.

And then there's - today. When I rolled over in bed this morning and the room span, and continued spinning.

I describe it to MindReader.

"I hope it passes..." he says.

"No, I hope it's not flu," I say. I don't know what happens to people with chronic illnesses who get flu?

I close my eyes, and try to hope.

The fourth blog in a row!!

2008-11-17T14:50:00.002Z

I pad into the hall and scoop up the post.

A Christmas card, already? I think, as I slide open the silver envelope.

A wedding invitation falls out. My aunt. 20th December.

I put it aside, sighing.

And then I remember.

That's the thing, when something happens so quickly, you sometimes forget it has.

I can probably go to that, I marvel.

I squeal a little, and then buy this dress, which is the most beautiful dress in all the land, is it not?

We weren't though, allowed to go to Battersea dogs and cats home, mostly because I would come home with five

2008-11-17T14:45:00.004Z

"What can we do tomorrow?" I say to MindReader's brother's girlfriend. It is late on Saturday night. MindReader and I are lying on the sofa, him on his back, me between the back of the sofa and him, my head on his chest. Our earlier debacle in the car is long forgotten.

"Hm," she says. "You could go on a boat tour along the Thames, or you could go to the V&A, they have a war exhibition on."

I wrinkle my nose.

"Or you could go to Hamstead heath, and wonder around."

"Hm," I say.

"Or - Battersea children's zoo's really near here, they let you pet the animals."

MindReader's eyes met mine. I squeezed my hand very tightly on his stomach and my toes curled.

So that is what we did.

I did, though, shop for 5 hours like a normal person!

2008-11-17T14:34:00.004Z

I am outside Picadilly Circus tube station and I send a text to BestFriend.

Let me know when you get here. I'm going to browse in some shops X.

It was in Accessorize that my phone died.

I waited by the tube station for twenty minutes. Nothing. Lots of people who looked like her, though.

I went to a Starbucks we had talked about going to. Nope.

I went back to the tube station and sat on the steps and huffed.

I stood by a monument and got asked to take a load of photos for tourists. Honestly, what did we do before mobile phones?

I had taken an American couple's photograph when the idea hit me. MadFather had BestFriend's number. And I knew MadFather's number.

"I know this is presumptuous," I said, handing the camera back to them, complete with blurry picture courtesy of my photo-taking skills. "But I'm supposed to be meeting my friend, and my battery's died, could I just ring her..."

"Of course," the blonde American with the very nice teeth said. She handed me her mobile.

There is no need, I thought, to tell her the ins and outs of calling MadFather to call BestFriend.

MadFather doesn't answer. Fuck, fuck, I think, and hand her back her phone. "No worries," I said. "It'll be fine."

The cold wind stirred my coat and I folded my arms, pondering what to do.

A few moments later she was back. "Um, it's for you," she said.

Oh bollocks, I thought. MadFather had one of those services that calls you back randomly. "Hello?" I said into the phone, only it was ringing out. I hung up, baffled.

"Do you want me to pass on a message, if she rings back?" the American said.

Oh God, I thought. "Just say - um, just say Billygean's by the statue!" I said.

Eventually I rang MindReader from a phonebox and cried. He happened to have BestFriend's number randomly and saved the day.

When I got back MadFather asked me why an American woman had told him I was by a statue.

I didn't quite know what to say.

A rare insight into an argument that ends well!

2008-11-17T14:23:00.002Z

It is Saturday morning, and we are in London.

I am being Neurotic, in the way that only someone whose body has broken in the past can be.

"There is no other way I can do it," MindReader is saying, his face red and his eyes very blue. "If you want a lift I have to drop you early."

I know he is being reasonable. And it is better than walking to the tube. But what if my body... what if I collapse in Central London... thoughts whir around my head, even though nothing of the sort has happened for months. If only because I know the warning signs.

"Fine," I huff. "I'll just go now then shall I? No problem." The words come out full pelt, a hiss, a tantrum, and MindReader grips the steering wheel rather tightly.

"No," he says. "It is a problem, because I love you and I want to spend my life with you. So can we sort this out?"

The words sooth my burning rage like an ointment. You're beautiful, I want to say. Only I can't, so I settle for saying nothing and letting myself be held.

Conversations after work

2008-11-12T19:38:00.003Z

"That was a very nice cup of coffee," MindReader says. "Thank you."

"Oh, I stirred it."

"What a treat."

Conversations about living together

2008-11-11T21:12:00.003Z

MindReader and I are in disagreement about cats. Ideally, I would like 4 or 5. He would like none for the first 6 months and one thereafter.

"Please please please," I say, as we chop red onions.

"I just think we should live in a flat for a while before we get one..." he says. "Plus I don't want to have to move it if we move after a few months."

I roll my eyes. He is being far too rational for me. "I want a cat," I say. "I need to nurture a cat."

"Right."

"I can't think of anything more than I want that lots of cats running around."

"Er - a boyfriend?"

On, my perfect weekend

2008-11-09T14:04:00.004Z

And that is what I had missed.

Running in the rain to watch fireworks. Warming my hands by a bonfire. Sipping soup in transit. Stumbling upon a Christmas market and spending the afternoon wandering around. Drinking coffee and eating dark chocolate. Feeding monkeys bananas. Stripping off my rain-soaked clothes and sinking into a hot bath.

Life.

On why I might never be a lawyer!

2008-11-06T23:24:00.003Z

"I'm going to tell you something which you're not going to like," I say to MindReader as he sips his toffee nut latte (hurrah for Starbucks Christmas drinks!).

"Right," he says. Somebody unaccustomed to me might feel their stomach jolt, their face get hot, but MindReader is reasonably used to the drama of Billygean.

"What is it?"

"I've booked us tickets to the NEC Festive Fair! I love Christmas!"

He licks some cream off his stubble. "The what?"

"Oh it's amazing. You can buy Christmas gifts and baubles and Christmas ornaments..."

"It's a Christmas... fair?"

"Yes."

"Sounds pretty horrendous."

"Oh their website is amazingly garish."

"Okay, well, that's fine, we'll go."

"Good! How was your day?"

"Fine - I wanted to ask you something actually, you know confidentiality clauses?"

I laugh.

"What?" he says.

"When you say clauses I just keep thinking of Santa Claus!"

On more progress

2008-11-06T23:15:00.004Z

It's been ten months since I last saw a train.

The weather is just the same, but the station is totally different. The signs are now digitial - the next train will be appearing in 5 minutes. Baffling.

The train pulls up. It is pink, and not a Virgin train. Four people next to the windows have laptops. I feel a little like I have been in a coma. Which, in a sense, I have.

I catch the train to Birmingham (and the bus to the station before that), and all the shops have moved. I am a tourist, a visitor as I wander down the dark streets lined with unfamiliar shops. And, if familiar, somehow glossier, more efficient, selling things I hadn't thought of yet.

I see MindReader's blond head coming out of his office. I stride towards him, bags in hand. "Hello!" I say.

"Billygean," he says, his face crinkling up. "You're in Birmingham."

We get a coffee, holding hands at the venue of our first date, and shop until we want to stop.

Conversations in the kitchen

2008-11-03T22:49:00.005Z

"Make sure you check on the spuds, too," MindReader says, about to close the door. I love that he calls potatoes spuds.

I am cooking on my own. My ability to stand up for a while, combined with the restless boredom that only the end of a chronic illness can bring, means I have - shock horror - taught myself to cook a bit.

I say a bit.

"I can't," I yelp.

It's true. The barbecue sauce (containing fennel seeds! Fennel seeds.) is very complicated. I am chopping fresh garlic, measuring out soy sauce and simultaneously frying onion. I am also de-seeding a chili and roasting vegetables.

Suddenly I am very hot.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the misted-up window. My hair is huge and full of humidity.

"You can," he says. "Just check them every five minutes or so to check they're not - you know - burning." A slight pause, just long enough to indicate perhaps he doesn't like burnt dinners.

"Okay," I say. "Every time itunes selects a new song, I'll check the potatoes."

"Okay. And then toss them a bit, in the olive oil?"

"No. I can check them; I can't guarantee I'll act on it. Okay?" I frantically crush the garlic and throw it in a pan.

He smirks slightly. "But then they might go funny..."

"So I just - toss them?" I say.

"Yeah - just - " he gestures tossing a pan.

"You would toss them. I might turn them all very slowly and autistically. Which I don't have time for."

Radiohead comes on.

"Fair enough."

Pondering doing this

2008-11-01T22:27:00.004Z

I dash across Birmingham's black streets, slick with rain, my shopping bags banging against my legs.

MadFather and I have started the Christmas shopping early, because MindReader is away tonight, and I was feeling festive and (dare I say) energetic and begged.

"So," MadFather says. "It's November, what's your plan?"

We do this every month. September's plan was to be able to go to a pub if I rested the day before and the day after. October's plan was to be able to go to a pub every day if I wanted. I now resemble a human being from about 6pm every day, so October has been successful.

I open my mouth to say that I want to be sitting up all day by the end of November.

And then other responses get tangled in my mouth. I remember reading Things I Want My Daughters To Know in the bath, a wet patch of black ink on my thumb. The mum dies, leaves her daughter a series of letters which I devoured on my side in bed, being spooned by MindReader last night, my eyebrows raising further and further as I thought -

This could be my book.

And so it has occured to me: if I do not write it soon, someone else will.

These are, I think, the last months of my illness, and then, food shopping and clients and dinner parties will take over and it will drop further and further down my list of recent documents, eventually dropping off altogether.

"Well it's National Novel Writing Month," I say to MadFather. "So who knows."

I did not, as suggested, go as a "famous hermit"

2008-11-01T14:04:00.002Z

Last night, I went to a house party. With alcohol and other people and not always available chairs! Plus, we "popped into" Asda on the way there. Popped in! Not: went to Asda and lay down all day but: went to Asda on the way to a house party.

Hurrah!

Me, as a half hearted cat, in that I wore what I wanted to, but added ears and whiskers.

A friend, MindReader and I

I thought you might enjoy a shot of MindReader and I interacting (about why he can't smile for photos)

On my mother

2008-10-30T15:24:00.002Z

I read the passage over and over.

I was still in the baby fog when Jennifer came, bless her, and whole months passed in a blur. And still, there were people around all the time - Donald, his mum, other mums with babies and toddlers the same age. But it was different with you. It was just us, the two of us. ... And it was just you and me and the midwife - and she slipped out and left us alone. It was so quiet. You didn't even cry. No fussing, no noise, and no interference. No one else wanting to hold you. You were mine, Amanda, all mine. And I loved you so much.

Elizabeth Noble - Things I Want My Daughters To Know

I read it three or four times. And then I read it out to MadFather, who puts his beer down, his blue eyes looking directly at me.

"Is that what it's like?" I say. "Is that what a mother should feel?"

"It's supposed to be," he says, and his expression becomes so wrinkled and pained that I don't ask any more.

In addition to getting my hair cut, washing up, and cooking...! :)

2008-10-29T22:08:00.004Z

MindReader and I are carving a pumpkin. We also did this last year, so obviously this year I had to do something different.

"Don't look don't look don't look," I say, as MindReader peers at the laptop screen. "I'm using a template and I want you to guess what it is when I've carved it."

"Oh my God," he says. "Pressure."

He smiles and sips his coffee, resuming watching the football.

"Er, Billygean - " he says, a moment later. "You've carved so much that you're going to cut all of the side of the pumpkin out."

"No I'm not," I say.

"Er, you are," he says, his face cracking into a smile.

"I'm not," I say, my eyes darting to the laptop and back.

"Are you sure?"

"Ye-es..." I say, just as the entire side of the pumpkin falls out.

So. MindReader couldn't guess. Can you guess what it's supposed to be?!

On getting better

2008-10-29T21:40:00.002Z

I walk down the street briskly, having got cash out for the bus. I am on my way to get my fringe trimmed and it is cold.

I turn the corner and a bitter wind stirs the leaves that line the street. My beautiful new coat swings around my thighs.

I look over my shoulder and see the bus coming.

"Fuck," I mutter.

I break into a run.

I only realise when I'm safely on the bus how significant this is.

On why I think I own a green scarf, but it's apparently blue

2008-10-28T20:13:00.005Z

"Right," the optician says. "Just one more test."

I roll my eyes. We have already done a field view test and a glaucoma test.

He hands me a book with lots of spotty numbers written in it in different colours.

"Just flick through and read me the numbers," he says.

I look down at the book and then up at him again. Seriously?

"Okay um, 22, 27, 22... er - no number?" I say. He nods slowly.

"Uh, 27 again, 57, 22..."

"And just do this book," he says.

I sigh a bit. I don't, actually, have anything better to do but this is quite boring. "25, 6, 6,"

"Okay that's enough," he says, taking the book out of my hands.

"Okay?" I say, standing and putting my bag over my shoulder.

"Er just a second," he says. "You're actually - just slightly - colourblind."

"I'm what?"

On shopping, and then sitting up for 4 hours afterwards :)

2008-10-26T12:02:00.003Z

I had forgotten what cities were like.

It is 5pm, the sky darkening to that vivid blue behind buildings. The shops are lit up, not the cold, fluorescent lights of Tamworth but fairy lights and candles in the little boutique windows.

The streets smell of hot dogs and fireworks.

DoctorSister and I have been shopping for an hour and a half.

I push open the doors of Lush, my most favourite shop in the whole world. My bags rustle against the door as I push through, and immediately regret wearing a huge coat in the tiny, warm shop.

"Oh oh," I say to DoctorSister, handling a pumpkin and spicy orange-scented soap. "I want to work here and spend all my wages here... sod being a lawyer."

"Lawyer?" A voice says behind me.

Turns out the VeryCampShopAssistant is studying to be a lawyer, too.

"So why haven't you joined FutureLawFirm this year?" he says as I pick out a coconut and vanilla shampoo.

"Oh, I got glandular fever," I say, and then, as his eyebrows raise, and before I can even think about it, I say "I'm fine now."

And, in that moment alone, it is true.

On anxiety

2008-10-23T15:18:00.002Z

"How are you then?" MadFather's friend says.

"Fine," I say, when I clearly am not. My nails leave half-moons in my palms.

"Funny, my friend has chronic fatigue and she looks really well, too!" She says brightly.

"I - er -". I tilt my head to the side. I am beyond being offended. My heart thumps and my mind floats up to sit elsewhere.

Funny, how it happens. A bout of stomach flu (always known to provoke anxiety in me). A handful of MindReader's problems feeling like my own. An icy hand around my heart in the middle of the night.

And then here we are: time raining on, fists clenches, not knowing who or what I am.

On not being like the generations before us

2008-10-21T13:34:00.003Z

"How are you doing?" I say, walking back into MindReader's bedroom as my bath is running. I wrap a dressing gown tightly around my waist.

"Okay," he says, lying on his bed and throwing a tennis ball up and down. MindReader - a Sport Person - almost always has a ball in his hand, at his feet.

"It will get better," I say, curling up next to him. His hand moves fractionally towards the tie on my dressing gown.

The noise of the rest of his house drowns out as I move closer to him.

And, in the immortal words of Audrey Niffenegger, we flip the lock, and the bath overflows.

On the weekend

2008-10-20T15:12:00.005Z

A yellow leaf slaps onto the car window. MindReader peers round it, turns on the wipers and squashes it.

He sighs next to me, and I look over and am surprised by how old he sometimes looks.

His hand drifts to my thigh after he changes gear and squeezes gently.

The rain picks up, and the prickling sound of the car's tyres on the gravel fades away, leaving only hammering rain on the metal roof and the odd brief sigh of the wind and MindReader.

His house comes into view as we turn the corner, the car's headlights sweeping across dead leaves and shrubs.

The car coasts up the drive, the security light comes on, and I brace myself.

Test

2008-10-17T12:42:00.002Z

WELL. I am sorry about that. I have no idea what happened. I, too, got the random blank page and began contacting my hosts (who were RUBBISH). MadFather put my ftp details into an ftp thingy (technical term) and it all worked and last night I woke up at 5am and decided to try just... republishing. Et voila! Cheers, blogger.

I have had 66 emails from readers telling me it was down. It's nice to know how much I matter. But WHAT are you going to do when I have to stop blogging?!

My recovery continues. I have now successfully trained body into sitting up most days from about 7pm which means pubs! restaurants! bowling! late night coffees! Most days I can also do one or two things in the day, so, yesterday, I walked to the shop, baked and then went out for a quick shop and a coffee. Some days I feel almost normal. Some days I don't get it right and my body responds by vomiting. But there you are.

MindReader has some stuff going on that I don't really want to talk about on here, maybe not yet anyway, and it has resulted in a few tearful nights (mostly me, because I am a selfish girlfriend!). It seems as if it has been one thing after another since we started out. Firstly Mike was quite upset about the whole thing, and then I moved in with housemates and I was unhappy, and then MindReader had surgery, and then I got sick, and then MadFather lost his job and got depressed, and then ... well, I was still in bed ten months later. Life hey? But enough of that, because MindReader is mostly still smiling lots and being sarcastic, I just wish I could wrap him in cotton wool, away from the storms.

I think you're probably up to speed.

This one is for MindReader

2008-10-12T23:28:00.005Z

I am wearing my beautiful new skirt and standing in a bar that is playing thumping music. It appears I cannot quite get enough of socialising now I can do it (a bit).

"Billygean!" one of MindReader's friends says. "It's so good to see you."

"I know," I smile, as he hugs me and I remember what people other than MindReader and my very close circle of visitors smell like.

"What happened?" he says.

I give him a don't you know? look.

"Oh MindReader's told me bits and pieces - glandular fever - but fuck's sake, ten months!"

I smile. "It knocks some people about a bit. I had to lie down for 6 months. Now I lie down a bit less."

"God. I had skin cancer ages ago. They thought it had spread, but it hadn't."

And I realised it is exactly as Dooce said. Every crisis you go through can be summed up in three seconds.

I got really sick, and then I started getting better.

And it's true.

On going to watch the ballet :)

2008-10-11T00:21:00.002Z

"Here's fine," I say and get out of the car, pulling my beautiful new skirt down.

I step out onto the street, and the night lights catch my tights and shine.

Birmingham smells of curries and smog and the smells drift onto my clothes and into my hair.

I get cash out, stride along, call my friend and apologise for always being late.

I catch the eye of an admiring man and smile.

It has been eight months since I last walked in Birmingham, my home. I had forgotten what my home smelt like.

The man is still staring.

It is at precisely this point that I realise my skirt is tucked into my knickers.

Question

2008-10-10T23:12:00.002Z

I have enquired about a WRITERS' group in Birmingham which is on next Wednesday.

NiceMan has viewed my blog and accepted me, and I think I have the energy to go. But -

I have to take a manuscript.

To read OUT!

Oh the pain! Oh the editing! Oh the fact that my novel currently contains the phrase secret desire! Could there BE worse writing?

Should I go?

Musings and honesty in my relationship

2008-10-08T13:34:00.005Z

"I am not going to leave you," MindReader says, "but I don't want to be in a relationship where we fight like this."

"What does that mean," I say, my voice sharp, like lemons.

His eyes snap open and then close again, a venus fly trap. "Nothing," he says. "Just that I hate this."

"There is a difference," I say, days later, lying in the unusually warm October sun, "between knowing you have to do a good job at work and being warned that you have to do a good job."

"I know," he says, his blue eyes looking dark and velvety. "I didn't mean it like that. I was very upset."

But MindReader doesn't do upset.

I took a walk today, in the amber, slanting autumnal sunshine. It has been 6 days since I snapped, griped, or guilt tripped. I have been deep breathing, remembering MindReader's scrunched up face, realising it is the illness I am angry with.

All the leaves are turning. Red ones, like flags against the sharp blue sky, yellow ones with singed red edges like embers glowing.

And, as they change, it is exactly as if I am slowly changing with them.

Returning

2008-10-06T23:49:00.003Z

"Billygean!" a message flashes up on Facebook.

It from someone I went to school with. I vaguely knew him, until he dropped out to go to juvenile jail.

Told you my school was rough.

"Long time no speak," he types.

"Yes..." I type back, wondering why someone I exchanged two words with when I was 14 is typing at me.

"Looking for a lawyer and hear you're one," he types.

Ah.

"I'm probably not your woman," I type back. "On a bit of a sabbatical..."

"C'mon," he types back. "I'm up for affray and GBH in the magistrates court tomorrow, what am I looking at?"

I know the answer.

I smile, and begin to type. At last.

In case you are lacking in blonde moments yourself

2008-10-06T13:58:00.002Z

"Ooh," I say to MadFather in the supermarket. "Do you think I can eat a chocolate orange?"

"Maybe," he says.

I pick it up. "sugar... emusifier: soya lecithin - oh - wheat flour. Damn."

"Oh dear," he says. "Do you need any cereal?"

"I would like some Alpen. I miss Alpen."

"How about this," he says, picking up a purple box of muesli. "Made with... er - millet flakes."

"No thanks," I say. "Ooh, do you think I can eat wheatabix?"

On the realisation that everybody gets asked about their careers, and me about my health.

2008-10-02T13:14:00.005Z

HomeFriend's daughter is chatting away. She has been travelling, and wears associated pashmina, bracelets that tinkle, and baggy trousers. Oh to be 18 again.

Her friend apparently fell off a waterfall in Nepal and broke her leg.

"Plus we went to a rave last week in Cambridge," she is saying. "My friend went on her crutches."

"I thought she wasn't weight bearing?" HomeFriend says, sipping her tea.

"She's not. But it was - like - not sidetrance, it was more jungle so more chilled out. So she just held on to the speakers."

I glance sideways at MindReader. "I feel old," I whisper, and he squeezes my knee.

"MindReader did law," HomeFriend says, and I feel my spine stiffen.

"Oh yeah?" HomeFriend's Daughter says. "How is the whole law thing? I'm not exactly looking forward to it."

I open my mouth, and then I look from her to him, and back again, and close it. My neck goes bright red, and the red creeps into my face.

"Oh," he says. "It's okay, peaks and troughs."

I sit next to him in silence, looking at nobody, my eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance. Tears prick my eyes.

MindReader says something more about the workload but I have stopped listening. There is something in his shoulders, his very still hand on my leg that understands.

But still.

"Erm, excuse me," I say, and leave the room.

Wedding talk

2008-10-01T16:55:00.002Z

"I can't believe how many people are getting married," Friend says to me.

"I know. 8 of my friends have announced it in the past few months. I didn't think we were that old."

"I think 23, 24 is quite young," she says. "But you'll probably be next."

I make an exaggerated wave of my hand. "No."

"No, you're not ready?"

I cannot stop the creeping blush that starts at my neck and slowly reaches my hair line. "Of course not."

Photos from my first day out in 9 months

2008-09-29T13:38:00.003Z

"So what was the best bit of your weekend?" MindReader says. We went our separate ways for the weekend in aid of football and girly chats respectively.

He rolls over and pulls me towards him. Behind him, the sun is setting, gingery-pink. We may or may not have been in bed for the last three hours.

"The best bit was at the Safari park..." I say. "A huge deer stuck its head in the car. MadFather had been telling me to keep the food box away from the animals cos they'd eat it. So I stuck it between my legs and the deer - like - lunged at me and grabbed the box from between my legs. So then MadFather yelled noooo and started a tug of war, and drool was going all over my legs and ears were flapping around the rear view mirror..." I start laughing.

"MadFather's ears?" MindReader says.

Me (with newly dark hair!) and BestFriend

On the iPhone

2008-09-27T12:35:00.001Z

"Sorry," MindReader says, after calling me back. "My phone died again."

"Hm," I say. "I'm upgrading soon to an IPHONE, you can have my old phone."

"Thanks," he says.

"I don't love you enough to give you my iPhone."

"No, I know."

Conversations most spouses have on their way home from work

2008-09-27T12:31:00.002Z

"And what did you have for lunch?" I say to MindReader on the phone. He is driving home from work to Shrewsbury for the weekend.

"I had a duck wrap," he says.

"And what did you eat?" I giggle.

MindReader laughs, and then quacks and claps a kind of rap to me which is impossible to type.

"God I'm on handsfree," he says, "I look insane."

On speaking entirely in our own language most of the time

2008-09-23T15:46:00.003Z

"What are you doing?" I say as I come out of the steamy bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

MindReader is wearing jeans, a t shirt, and a tie.

"I'm trying to tie a Windsor knot," he says, as he wraps the tie around and around a knot.

"I see," I say. "When I bought that neck scarf I asked youtube how to do it."

"I tried that this morning," he says, revealing the extent of his obsession with Windsor knots, "it was way too complicated."

"I'll help," I say. "I'll go and get Larry."

Larry is our laptop. It's probably best not to ask.

A few minutes later I have paused the youtube video 60 times. "Now just go up and under the left knot again - no no, take it under - ooh!"

"Ooh have I done it?" he says.

"I think so?"

He looks at me and Larry for a moment, in his t shirt and tie combination. "We're getting weirder," he says.

Illness update

2008-09-22T16:37:00.002Z

The bus and I became acquainted early last year, when it was always late and always raining.

I waited for it in Spring rains, when I didn't know what to do about MindReader, and during Summer sunsets, when the world was glittering again.

I got the bus again today, I have sort of missed it :)

Wherein I metaphorically orgasm

2008-09-20T22:42:00.002Z

"What the -?" MindReader says, walking into the kitchen in his Beautiful Suit.

"I went to a garden centre!" I say, fondling my chili medusa plant. "I bought herbs and things we can cook with!"

"Er..." he says, which, considering I didn't know how to chop a garlic clove, is fair.

"Please help," I say, picking up a rosemary plant and thrusting it in his face. "It's therapeautic to grow things, it might help my recovery."

"We'll need to repot them," he says. Because he cannot resist the idea of growing food.

"Oh?"

"Maybe if we buy a window box? So we can take it with us when we move out?" He says.

My toes curl. "I think I just came," I say.

And so we did. Buy a window box, that is.

How to: make me uncomfortable

2008-09-18T16:24:00.002Z

"How's the dairy reintroduction going?" my Mother says, as we walk around a garden centre. I later bought a chili plant and 6 grow your own herb sets, but we'll come back to that.

"Hm," I say. "Not great. I can eat yoghurt and hard cheeses but if I ever eat soft cheese or milk it just goes - straight through me."

"I see," she says. "That's bad if you're on the pill."

"I know," I say, sending a quick prayer up to the gods of pregnancy. "I'm a bit worried."

"What would you do if you were - ?"

I think for a moment, fingering the leaves of an aloe vera plant that I later bought. "I think I'd keep it," I say slowly. "I can't justify - that - at 23 and with the right person."

"The only time I would have had an abortion," she says, louder than I'd like, "is when I left MadFather and I started sleeping with Husband."

I wince.

"I see."

"But then he had a vasectomy and it's amazing. The sex is totally normal, and his sperm - it looks just the same!"

How well mindreader knows me

2008-09-15T13:12:00.003Z

"Mmm," I say, spooning another mouthful of yoghurt, raspberries, chopped banana and sultanas into my mouth.

MadFather raises his eyebrows and resumed watching his film.

"You eating again?!" MindReader says, coming into the front room with the ironing board. It is true we had a roast and pudding about two hours earlier.

"Yep, I'm a growing girl," I say, pinching the teeny tiny new layer of fat that lies along my belly. "I think sultanas are my favourite fruit."

"So grapes, then," he says. He turns to MadFather. "I think you'll need to pause your film."

Sorry for not updating, emailing-readers, I went away!!

2008-09-14T23:22:00.005Z

That's the thing about being ill. People find it interesting.

MindReader and I are on our first night out with his friends since December. He is parking the car whilst I totter down an alleyway with his friend.

We have been to three pubs. Three pubs! I am wearing stilettos, and make up and do a pretty good job of impersonating a human for four hours a day.

"You gonna come out with us more now then?" MindReader's friend says.

"Yep," I nod, trying to convey 8 months of wanting to in a single gesture.

"Been a bit of a nightmare, has it?" he says, in typical boy fashion.

I nod again.

We are at the bar now. A man brushes past me and tells me I'm "fucking leggy", which is strange because I'm not.

I normally tell blokes like this to fuck off. But, you know, I still enjoy getting caught in the rain; it's been too long.

"Are you glad - in hindsight - that you got ill?" MindReader's friend says as he passes me my orange juice (yes).

I stir my drink.

Some chronic illness sufferers, or former chronic illness sufferers, smile and glibly say they are glad, because they gained new perspective, because they learned X Y and Z. And so on.

To be fair to it, it's made me more interesting, less obsessed with what percentage I got in my Geography GCSE, and unable to imagine working past 6pm. I've written half a novel, started to learn Italian, cemented my relationship with the love of my life.

But I missed all of March's cold rains and May's blossoms. I was too sick to eat Christmas dinner. It sometimes feels I missed a lifetime of possibilities; of lost handbags and misunderstandings, of tequila and all nighters, of the spray of sprinklers on my legs.

We sit outside, the last of the summer fireflies dancing on the Shrewsbury river. It is a spectacular backdrop.

I learnt what true despair is. Not moping, not wallowing. Of clutching my hair, of not stopping myself falling, of feeling time sweep past and pull me under. I have cried a thousand tears for this illness. And I know there will be more. We have come some of the way, but not all of it.

These lessons - they are not worth that. Was there no easier way to learn them?

Eventually, I snort. "Of course I'm not glad," I say. "Would you be?"

I feel like a fresher all over again

2008-09-11T22:17:00.002Z

I open the Take off in Italian textbook to the "End of Unit One Test."

I smile a little as I take out a blue pen and a red pen. It is early September, I have new pens, I am taking a test. Feels like home.

"Ask a stranger their name," the test says. "Ask two strangers where they live and tell them you and Ricardo live together."

Gah.

I know the words. I learned them all by rote. It's the first thing I did.

But -

And then I remember scraping by French GCSE, my tutor and her one eyebrow telling me I couldn't rely on my memory and I had to learn what prepositions and the imperfect tense were.

Oh dear. live is abitare. But something - happens - when there's more than one person. Abitamo. Abiti? E abite?

I submit my answers onto the crazy interactive CD thingy.

"You scored 24 out of 45," the automated man reads. "You cannot proceed to unit two. Please redo unit one."

How embarrassing.

I suspect he's deadly serious

2008-09-10T11:05:00.004Z

"We have got to do something about these lights," MindReader says to me.

It is midnight and we are spooning in bed. I roll over and see that MindReader has a glowing leaf on his left eye.

The leaf lights are a tacky and treasured addition to our bedroom. I bought them in Portobello market (before I got attacked by glandular fever, obviously) and will haughtily maintain that add an air of ambiance to the bedroom. That is, when they're not falling off the wall and onto our pillows.

MindReader sits up and picks a leaf off the his pillow.

"Do you like finding leaves in our bed?" I say, smirking.

"What's weirder is that they're synthetic leaves," he says.

We sit up and pull the lights off the pillows. MindReader finds some blutack and we try to stick the leaves back up. For every bit we stick, another bit falls on one of our heads.

"Is this how you imagined living with me?" I say, as an orange leaf drifts down onto my hand.

"You know, it totally is."

I have just opened CD1 of 5 and am having trouble pronouncing Ciao.

2008-09-09T13:34:00.002Z

"I've had enough," I say irrationally as MindReader walks in through the door.

He makes an mmming noise and presses his lips to mine.

"I've done washing, made meatballs, done ironing and I'm still bored," I say. "Meanwhile everyone at my law firm are going to court and meeting clients."

He nods, an arm around my shoulders.

"I'm not having babies. I've done my year's maternity leave. Just - without a baby."

"Okay," he says, slightly unnerved. "I know."

I take a deep breath and ask him about his day. It is getting easier, to hear the familiar legal terms roll off his tongue and not mine. But it is not yet easy.

"Fine," he says. "I got you this."

He hands me a red package.

"Because you said - you said you'd like to learn Italian," he says, "and then maybe we could go there when we're well and you could show me what you've learnt?"

I smile as I unwrap the Take off in Italian! book and CD set.

"Thank you," I say, unbelievably touched. "This is why I love you."

And slowly, I feel less left behind, and more - on a different path.

Before you say, I know I look ridiculously well for someone ill

2008-09-07T19:31:00.003Z

"Could you indicate to me which items are gluten free?" I say to the waitress.

"Of course," she says.

"How you feeling?" DoctorSister'sHusband says, and I am touched.

"Well," I say, and I take off my glasses, because only these people around me matter.

We eat three courses. And then move onto a bar. As the nasty disco music thumps through my core I finally feel like a human again.

It is about time.

The new shoes help

2008-09-05T13:31:00.004Z

It has been quite a week. After 3 months of misery and unemployement, MadFather has finally found a job. It's temporary and it doesn't quite pay enough, but we're thinking about that in December.

MindReader moved in (good) and started his job (good. for him.). I conveniently forgot what an effect MindReader becoming a lawyer would have on me. It has, selfishly, only served to remind me that my life is not going in the direction it's supposed to be going in. Or indeed any direction.

We went out with MadFather last night, to the pub. As we were leaving, MindReader dropped back and got my bag, because I am forgetful. He handed it to me and slipped an arm around my waist.

"You okay?" He said, pulling me towards him in the middle of the pub.

And for a moment, nothing had changed.

According to MindReader it doesn't taste 'all that bad'.

2008-09-03T15:17:00.004Z

"I'm going to bake an apple pie," I say to MadFather. "And - bake my own pastry."

"Fucking hell," he says, following me into the kitchen.

We do it in three stages, with lying down time for me. And let me tell you, it is very stressful to have to leave a disaster to go and lie down.

But I digress.

The breadcrumbs stage goes okay. If you squeeze the "breadcrumbs" it does become dough but we can't all be perfect can we?

The adding eggs does not go so well. I do not understand the term gradually, and my chronic illness hasn't, as I'd hoped, taught me any patience whatsoever. At the end of the egg-adding (which by the way took lots of concentration for me to add the yolk and not the white) the dough is so sticky that when we put it into the fridge to 'chill' it sticks to everything and when we get it back out again - oh dear God - out come mustard pots and jars of jam IN THE DOUGH.

Cue rest.

Rolling dough obviously does not go well. Dough that is consistency of chewing gum does not "roll".

Am supposed to roll out pastry until twice the size of baking tin, drape over and pat down to form a case.

Just like that.

This reminds me of when my year nine art exam said "draw a person and be sure to get the proportions right!"

I got 29%.

Pastry rips whenever we pull at it. Obviously it does not form a sheet. So. We cut out four rectangles and STICK THEM WITH BUTTER onto the insides of the baking tray. Then we make a base.

Cue rest. And deep breathing. And a text to MindReader which reads "PS. If you mention that I attempted to make a pie today I will deny all knowledge."

The filling stage goes (relatively) well. Soak sultanas in orange juice (?) until plump. Soak them for two hours longer than it said. Sultanas not plump. Nevermind.

Apples which MadFather chopped in advance are VERY brown and resemble CRINKLE CUT CRISPS. Add them anyway.

Time to make a LID for the pastry. Roll out remaining pastry. It is still like chewing gum and does not roll.

I rip up the half-rolled-out "lid" and begin to stick it in lumps and clumps all over the top of the filling.

"What are you doing?" MadFather says.

"I think it is called LOSING MY SHIT."

She's right though

2008-09-01T13:27:00.003Z

It is Sunday evening. MindReader and I are in our room, surrounded by boxes of his things. And a mini champagne bottle that he brought.

"I can't believe you no longer do admin for the NHS," I say, looking at his good luck gifts: ties and cider.

"It's weird," he says. "I worked there the whole time through the law conversion and the LPC. They got me this," he says, handing me a card.

"Ooh," I say opening it. "How nice." I begin reading. "Good luck and nice bum, love Carol?!" I say.

"Oh," he says, going red.

"Nice bum! She's been looking at your bum! I mean you bum is very nice but it's not hers to look at!"

"Billygean," he says, kissing my forehead. "She's 63."

My weekend

2008-08-31T16:30:00.003Z

The room is filled with people and laughter. A half full bottle of red wine is on the table next to empty glasses, a huge bar of dairy milk and left over MindReader's homemade curry.

It has been an eventful evening.

"To you on your engagement," I say to my good friend, clinking my glass with everyone. We toast and sip the wine, it runs, heavy, down my throat. I have missed wine.

I snuggle closer to MindReader and feel a vague lump in my throat. My life is standing still.

"How's your sister, by the way?" I ask after a moment.

"Oh she's okay, a bit better. She's dumped the twat..."

"That's good," I say.

"I keep telling her she just needs to find someone who's not - fiery - like her. Someone who'll calm her down."

I smirk at MindReader.

"You know," GoodFriend continues, "someone who'll mellow her out and will just take it if she shouts at him."

MindReader clears his throat.

"Sorry," I say. "It's just - you're basically describing our relationship."

Everybody laughs and I escape to the kitchen for a moment to provide more drinks.

MindReader opens a can of cider and pulls me into his arms. "Hello," he says, kissing my nose, my eyelids.

"I'm not sure I've been in love before," I blurt. Such is my way. "Have you?"

He is quiet for a while. I shouldn't have asked. Of course he has.

"Not like this," he says eventually.

And - even including the mind numbingly frustrating illness - I feel like everything in my life is as it should be.

Wherein I am incredibly generous

2008-08-29T12:10:00.001Z

"Just one more thing," I say on the phone to MindReader. "How many cuddly toys is okay in our room?"

"Umm, I would say... one," he says.

"Oh," I say. "I have narrowed it down to seven but they are scattered around... Tell you what, you can bring as many cuddly toys as you like!"

"That's what I call compromising."

Living in sin

2008-08-28T16:31:00.003Z

So.

MindReader is moving in. You may have known this.

He starts his Proper Lawyer Job on 1st September which was when we were supposed to get a flat in the City together.

My Body is spoilt brat and has prevented this.

Since MindReader lives in Shropshire, commuting to work is not really okay, he is moving in here!

On Sunday.

There has been over a year of horrible long distance and it's about to end, hurrah!

He's been moving stuff over slowly for the past few weeks. It is nice, to merge lives, to find mysterious hair gelling products and odd clothes all over my room that smell of him. He will see me cut my toe nails and jumping in the shower with him will no longer be something I do on weekends. Eee!

Last night I (scarily) watched him sleep, and as I looked at the hairs on his chest (strangely dark, not blond), the lopsided smile he wears in his sleep, an arm strewn lazily across his body, I thought I could look at him forever. This, I thought, is love.

So I used today's and tomorrow's energy, sorting our room out. OUR room!!

Our bed!

His and hers cosmetics (more hers than his...)

What MindReader is currently reading

On old Disney movies

2008-08-26T22:06:00.001Z

"Oh Lady," MindReader says, rubbing my belly. Ever since I made him watch Lady and the Tramp on one rainy Monday we have taken to imitating it.

"He's lost his sense of smell," MindReader says, miming scratching his ears. "Aye Laddy," he says, switching to imitating the Scottish dog.

"Have you considered being a Lady and the Tramp imitator?" I say.

"I can't do them all," MindReader says. "I can't do - what's his name - scamp?"

"Which one?"

"The one Lady end up with?"

I giggle. "Tramp?"

I pause. "There's a clue in the question," I say.

"Oh my God," he says, "so there is."

Weekend news

2008-08-26T12:54:00.003Z

This weekend I have:

* Been to the CINEMA. And, it was such a foreign experience for me that I had to look around to see if normal people sat up straight or rested their heads on the headrests. I don't know what's normal!
* Been to the PUB. For an hour.
* Been SHOPPING and got stuck in a dress. That I then bought. Because I realised it had a zip you could undo.

This is the sort of picture text message MindReader receives. He was smirking rather a lot when I emerged and bought the dress.

At the pub

At the cinema :)

A blonde moment not involving illness (I hope)!

2008-08-24T23:38:00.003Z

"I sat on my glasses," I say to MadFather, pouting.

He takes the glasses off me and bends the arms for a while. "Any better?" he says.

I put them on again. "They're less crooked," I say, "but for some reason I can't see very clearly out of them."

"Oh," he says, taking back the glasses and fiddling some more. "Now?" he says.

"Hm," I say. "They feel totally normal but everything is blurred."

MadFather's face cracks into a smile. "Do you have your contact lenses in Billygean?"

"Oh," I say. "Maybe."

Wondering where my commenters have gone?!

2008-08-21T17:53:00.003Z

BestFriend from Law School is sitting opposite me. I have not seen her since results' night over a year ago, where we drank pints of wine and danced with no shoes on.

Since then, she has stroked Lions in Africa, gone tubing in Laos, got her roots done in Sydney, met an American in LA and travelled around Mexico with him.

And I've - well - you know.

"I can't believe this has happened to you," she says, pushing back the beads that adorn her wrists. Her hair has gone bright blonde.

"Yes, well," I say, "I'm getting better now."

"But still - it's awful," she says, and it is nice to hear. It is sometimes much better than 'stay positives' and 'but you can do more, now.'

"I know," I smile. "We'll be doing the LPC at the same time next year too, now," I say.

"God yeah."

"We've had quite different gap years," I say quietly.

"Same result though," she says.

"Hmm?"

"Oh you know, development, sense of self, emotional progress."

"You think?"

"Definitely," she says, putting her tea down and looking directly into my eyes. "I don't think I could cope with what you've had to. Trust me, you'll be glad it happened one day. Trust me."

And I do.

On North and South Ossetia!

2008-08-19T11:53:00.003Z

"So," I say to MindReader. We are lying in bed. Post coital conversations are my speciality. "What's going on with Russia?"

He had mentioned Russia when having a Serious Discussion with MadFather earlier.

"Well," he says, as I shift closer to him, my head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around my shoulders. "This mole - freckle -"

"I think it's a cafe au lait," I say.

"Okay," he says, pointing to my upper arm again. "This - mark - is Ossetia. North Ossetia is in Russia and South Ossetia is in Georgia," he says, drawing a line across my skin.

He continues talking, making complicated patterns on my arm. He is my family, I think.

***

"Morning," MadFather says.

"Hello," I say, flopping onto the sofa. "Ah," I say, nodding to the news, "Russia."

"Yep," he says. "Know what's going on?"

"Yes," I say, rolling up my sleeve.

"What are you doing?"

Woes

2008-08-17T23:27:00.003Z

"I was telling my Mum about your situation," BestFriend says. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like you're - pregnant."

I laugh. "Oh no, it's fine. What were you telling her?"

"Just about your illness, and how MadFather's lost his job and is a bit depressed..."

"Ah," I say. "That."

"Yes. Anyway, she asked whether your mum was around and I was like - can of worms - but basically no, she left ages ago. And she's bonkers."

I laugh again. "True."

"And you know what she said?"

"Hmm?"

"She said it just sounds like you need someone to - you know - look after you. Without anything in return. So you stop feeling guilty."

The sentence is so true that the air stills around it. Tears well into my eyes and spill into the bath.

"In an ideal world," I say.

Photos from our second date this year

2008-08-13T12:28:00.002Z

MindReader and I are sitting on bales of hay that are probably full of spiders. I am maintaining that while it was me who suggested a day (40 minutes) out at a petting zoo, it was him who saw the lambs were being bottle fed and suggested we go and join in.

"So which boys and girls want to feed the lambs?" the loud and annoying farm lady says.

I exchange a wry smile with MindReader. The phrase boys and girls makes it slightly difficult to go and join in.

And then. And THEN -

"Who wants to sing a song?"

I am dying inside. This is probably not what MindReader wanted to spend his annual leave doing. What will all the other lawyers say?

"Baa baa black sheep -"

"There's only one thing for it," I say, pulling MindReader up and dashing out of the barn, negotiating lambs and sheep and pushing past toddlers.

Wherein I defend women's rights to criticse other women's bodies everywhere!

2008-08-12T23:11:00.003Z

"We were watching Australia's next top model the other night and MindReader said he thought I was gay," I say down the phone to BestFriend.

"Gay?!"

"Yes. A 16 year old girl came on and I said 'ooh she looks lovely,' meaning, of course, that I'd like to look like her. MindReader nudged me and asked me if I like them young."

BestFriend bursts out laughing. "I love him," she says. "He's amazing."

"I know, but he thinks I'm gay!"

She hmms.

"I'm not," I say. "Women like to critique women. And they form unusually close bonds with other women. Everyone knows this."

"I didn't ever think you were gay Billygean," BestFriend says, sounding amused.

We chatter some more. About inconsequential things, and about death and religion, about whether I have a brain tumour, why BestFriend's face is sometimes red for no reason, those sorts of things. For two hours.

"I'd better go," I sigh.

"Yes," BestFriend says, "I need to sleep. And so should you."

"I'm in the bath actually, I'll wash hair then sleep," I say.

"You're in the bath?!"

"Yes. I can be very covert about running a bath."

"Have you been in the bath the whole time?"

"No," I say, "but it was when we were debating whether I'm gay that I was running it and I could hardly say I was just removing all of my clothes."

"I see," she says. "Night then!"

Photos from this weekend which has included walking, baking, shopping, more walking, and, on one occasion, running for about 10 metres.

2008-08-10T18:29:00.003Z

MindReader and Sally the dog playing keepy uppies.

MindReader playing frisbee

Bedtime

Cuddles

Usurping my sofa/bed

On a forty minute walk!!!

The man I want to marry

Looks like the 3kgs have gone onto my stomach. Damn empire waist lines

Wherein I am happy :)

2008-08-10T11:57:00.003Z

"You need a walk," MadFather says to the dog we are babysitting. For a whole weekend. It is the best sleepover I have ever had. Scared of horror films? Watch them with a dog! Want to make spilling your breakfast down you funny? Get the dog to clean it up!

It is 10pm and black and raining.

"Coming?" he says, and I contemplate it. I have walked to the shop today, and baked. I shrug.

"Sure," I say, pulling a warm cardigan around me.

I do no wear a coat. Not because it is August and the rain is warm, but because I still am not fully reacquainted with the world and the weather and the idea of getting caught in the rain is still romantic to me.

I grab a hot cookie from the baking tray and venture out with the dog and MadFather.

We see a fox and a hedgehog. The rain and wind pick up, and whip my hair into my face so I cannot see.

The dog poos on a neighbour's garden. I smirk and sink my teeth into the warm cookie as MadFather clears it up.

And there it is. That intangible emotion. Not the ecstasy of being able to do something. Not the intense happiness I feel with MindReader, where seconds rush by like shooting stars. But -

contentment.

Finally.

Where I am more stupid than the Spar employee...

2008-08-09T15:28:00.003Z

MindReader and I are in my local shop. Having WALKED there.

The sole purpose of our visit is to buy me a bar of Galaxy. That's right. It's been 6 weeks, I accidentally consumed some ham with milk in (ham!) and lived, and it's about time I reintroduced something. Besides, my Doctor, having seen my weight gain, thinks it might be gluten. He then did go on to say he wanted me to be 60kg instead of 50kg which I think since I have gained 2kg in 7 months of eating four meals a day and sleeping 13 hours a night, is a bit ambitious.

Anyway. I get to the counter and the woman says, "that's three pounds sixty seven please."

(Okay, I didn't just buy Galaxy. I also bought other boring things. Like ground almonds.)

I fiddle around with my bag. The problem is not that my bag is huge and all important things drop to the bottom. Nor is it the old chronic fatigue dizziness (which I am pleased about, Glands, please do not think I am getting ungrateful). It was the simple fact that -

It has been about six months since I used money!

I thought for about 8 seconds. Which is a long time when you're at a till, performing a simple task. I gave her £3.50. And then MindReader had to take it back and add to it. But from my money so the problem clearly wasn't that I was poor. Which I would prefer.

So that was embarrassing. But OH MY GOD the Galaxy was worth it. Sod my intestines. I'm buying a can of condensed milk next. With exact change.

Addison's test result next week (good news: it's treatable!).

2008-08-07T19:27:00.005Z

I am in JJ's office. I have worn my silver flat shoes and my favourite underwear, because he has a tendency to upset me. And I like to be wearing nice underwear when upset.

I embarrass myself in a number of ways. I utter the following two sentences:

1. "My Dad has exactly the same figure as me."
2. "Is my recovery likely to be exponential or linear from hereon in?" to which he replied, "this is what happens when a lawyer get chronic fatigue."

He also came out with some gems of his own, such as "have you considered Celiac disease and Addison's disease?" And I thought I had gained enough emotional maturity in this roller coaster to nod politely but I haven't, and I said, "Months ago," like the snooty lawyer I am.

He was, overall, pleased with my improvement, (also that I have put on weight for the first time in about 5 YEARS which is a bit telling on the Celiac front) and the fact that I was significantly less neurotic than last time. By significantly I mean RELATIVELY, since there will always be a healthy dose of neuroses with Billygean.

Halfway through he sent me off to have my blood pressure taken (plumb normal, except the nurse was abnormally relieved to be putting the cuff around 'a skinny arm and not an obese one') and blood samples taken (horrible, but no rash!).

Right at the end, he put down his pen, ran a hand through his fluffy hair and said, "you won't be one of the unlucky ones."

I turned and looked at him. "You've started improving now," he said. "I would bet my private patient income on you being well by Christmas."

I could have kissed him (but I didn't).

Back to embarrassing myself in public

2008-08-06T13:13:00.002Z

I am in the Post Office. Having WALKED there, oh yes.

I drum my fingers on the counter.

"Yeah so he just said he'd booked this holiday with his mates and - " she clicks her fingers. "Gone."

I raise my eyebrows. Rubbish boyfriend.

"Put the next one on the scales please," she says.

I must confess I don't really understand the Post Office. The weighing, all the stickers, pushing parcels under the counter, the wet sponge they often push their fingers into. It is a very strange ritual.

I peel off my proof of posting receipt and stick it onto one of my parcels (a beautiful UK size 6 Gingham top that is of course too big).

"No no," she says, peeling it off again. "That's yours."

I blink. "I thought they needed proof of posting."

"That's what the parcel's for," she says, rolling her eyes. "That'll be £1.37 then."

"Bargain," I say, looking at the three big parcels I'm posting. I had, irrationally, got £20 out of the cash point, because I have no idea of the value of money.

I look at the form I'm holding and realise with a thud that it is the returns form that needs to go in the parcel.

"Um," I say. "Sorry - but - this needs to go in the parcel. Can you - put it in?"

She sighs and begins hacking away at the Sellotape I have plastered the parcel in. "Sorry," I say again as she tugs and rips at the parcel. "I'm really stupid."

"You are stupid," she says.

Wherein I am inappropriate

2008-08-05T13:21:00.002Z

"What are you reading at the moment?" I say to DoctorSister.

It is Friday night, and I am surrounded by family and candles and MindReader. Perfect.

"Oh this book - it's a bit Judy Blume," she says, and I wrinkle my nose.

"Judy Blume wrote some really weird books."

"She wrote Deennie, which I enjoyed," DoctorSister says. Of course she did. It's about a girl with a medical condition. And if that's not enough it's the same medical condition DoctorSister had, and why she has rods in her back today. There's something you didn't know?

"She did," I say, and glance at MindReader. It is somewhat of an in-joke between us that I have forgotten how to behave in public. He raises his eyebrows at me. I start again. "She did write weird books. Deennie used to masturbate with a flannel!"

His head sinks into his hands as DoctorSister's mouth drops open. "I - I don't remember that bit," she says.

I always thought my soulmate would use kisses as punctuation x

2008-08-03T13:13:00.002Z

Some text messages between MindReader and myself:

MindReader: I'm on my way to yours xx I'm going to the shop on the way to buy cider, do you need anything? xx

Me: Onions is the only think I can think of xx

MindReader: Try to think of something else xx is there anything you want at the shop? xx ;o)

I had absolutely no idea how to spell hemorrhage

2008-08-02T19:51:00.004Z

"Well I need to buy shoe ties and new razor blades," MindReader says over the top of his car, and I stare blankly at him, still in the euphoric stage of appreciating the wind on my neck, and not quite knowing what shoe ties are.

"Okay," I say. "Shall I meet you back at the car in a bit?"

I can tell he's surprised. The last time I went out entirely alone, with nobody to catch me when my legs stopped working, was February the seventeenth.

"Alright," he says, tossing the keys to me which I, of course, miss and drop. The day cannot be completely perfect.

Except it is. I must look like a normal shopper. And then I stop and think that that perhaps means, for this half an hour moment, that I am.

I finger spines of books I'd like to buy and - thank God - gone is the impulse that just because I am sick I can hemorrhage money in order to keep me entertained. Normality is slowly coming back. I do however buy gluten free crisps at a check out because I will never change entirely.

I am feeling audacious, or not sick, so I walk on round to Next, and look at bras and lacy tops that I still imagine wearing to summer parties, a thousand candles glowing like fireflies in my garden as I toast all those who visited me, who let me shout at them, who fended off my emails with graphs attached analysing how long I'd been ill for. Although it is clear I am getting better it is also painfully clear there will be no parties this summer. It is a fact I am surprisingly okay with.

The world becomes real to me again as I carry on around to Boots. Deodorants are no longer ordered on our shopping list with me vaguely trying to recall the scents of the ones I like. They are real and cool in my hands and all smell quite the same. I buy three. I push my finger into silky foundations and try on lipstick.

I start to feel ill in the children's clothes aisles. Which tells you that I have exhausted all of Boots and am rather bored. Boredom! And not because there's nothing on TV! The day that leaving the house becomes a boring chore will be the day I know I'm well.

I feel I will, though, carry this wonder around me forever. When people who have not seen the dark places I have - not to mention feeling exhausted by lifting their arms up to read in bed - dash about, not thinking, I feel I will always carry a kind of glow, like the glittery eyeshadow I have covered my eyelids in.

I pass a mirror. I look a bit like a clown. I clap a hand over my mouth and realise what matters.

On the only non pikey who went to my school

2008-07-31T14:03:00.003Z

"Guess who added me on Facebook?" OldestFriend says, sipping her coffee.

"Not -"

"Yes!" she squeals.

We are, of course, talking about a boy we lusted after in upper sixth form. That is, when we were 17.

"Let me see," I say, opening my laptop.

I tilt my head to the side. "He looks -"

"I know, good looking in some and awful in others," she says.

"It was more his presence," I say.

"Yes, he could just walk into the room and everyone would stare."

"But he didn't want you to," I say.

I look at his profile. "I am surprised he's single. I thought he was more a relationship kind of man."

"Did you ever speak to him?"

"No."