A Selby, a station and a sofa.

Just call me Mystic Meg!

I'm actually quite disproportionately proud at my successful snooker prediction! I think that perhaps I shall quit whilst I'm ahead and from here on in make no more sports-related forecasts. Yeah right. Like that's going to last for long!

Disregarding the warm glow I'm emitting having triumphed in this small matter, I actually feel rather like I've been hit by a bus this morning. All self-inflicted I assure you, well in the sense that I knew I'd end up feeling like this. Not that I actually took on the persona of my M.E. and beat myself over the head with it. It's as a result of my little London sojourn at the weekend. I knew that rather too much walking than was desired would take place, but I didn't count on my sister and I getting lost inside St. Pancras station and having to retrace our steps before we had got our bearings. So before we'd even left the station I'd walked too far! Eventually my walking turned into that sort of trudging pattern, where all that was keeping me going was momentum. I had to keep moving because if I stopped then it would probably take me hours to get started again!

Anyhow, I survived the day but I'm paying for it now. Surprise, surprise. Here's looking forward to a week of sofa-dwelling and ice-skating viewing!

Gah x3

Today I was on the receiving end of a frankly horrific accidental text incident. My sister's text message to her boyfriend ended up winging its way to me. I almost vomited. The less said the better. I am attempting to wipe the memory from my mind, a la Ben Affleck in Paycheck.

The trip to the hospital last week actually turned out OK. I did see the man himself and he discharged me - woop, woop! He was disarmingly friendly. So much so that when he brought out his classic "the only cure for M.E. is exercise" chestnut I didn't have enough time for it to register or for me to react. Curses. Oh well at least I won't have to see him again! Honestly man, stick to your chosen field.

I'm having to take a step back this week and take some rest days. I've done rather a lot over the past 10 days or so and my body has started shouting at me. I'm supposed to be going to London on Saturday. Gah. Always a rather stressful undertaking. Shouldn't have to stray to far from St Pancras though thankfully. I can't deal with cities. I've often wondered how I would have coped with this illness had I lived in a city. I can't bear the thought of the noise and millions of people all squashed together. I like my suburbs just fine thanks. I've got the vital entertainment venues within reach (ie. shops and cinema) and lots of nice countryside too. That is until all those new houses go up... I'm going to have to emigrate aren't I? One problem - I have a feeling that no country is likely to want me. Bah. Degrees, schmegrees!