Miserable Grit

I am very depressed.

Shark and Tiger are constantly fighting with fists, claws, hair pulling and abuse. This is not good. Pulling over onto the hard shoulder of the motorway is not good either. I threaten to put them both out of the car, M1 or no M1. Only part of my brain is telling me this is a stupid idea. The other part of my brain is telling me this is a good idea. I can site them behind the barrier, half-way up the hill. I think there they would be safe. And they can fight it out and provide some bemusement for the passing motorists.

My ipod is gone forever.

Dig is always away. When he is here, he is always working or stressed. Our recent romantic weekend in Paris to celebrate the tenth wedding anniversary that he wasn't here for anyway transmuted into two hours down the local Taj Mahal Balti House.

I am getting very old and worn out and not only is it hair time again, my shoulder aches, so I am clearly in the early stages of arthritis.

I am a whining, moaning, miserable Grit. And knowing this doesn't make it any better.