A splendid migraine stopped blog posting last night, and I have spent the night on the sofa with the French windows open, drugs to hand, and a bowl even handier. It is not entirely gone this morning, but I am soldiering on in the hope that things might improve if I gently coax myself into the day’s activities rather than hitting everything at a dead run, which is how yesterday started.
I need this migraine to shift, as the children and I are off for three days of adventure in Yorkshire. I have plans, and they shall not be thwarted by the body of a weak and feeble woman. I shall fight them on the beaches, etc, but mostly at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, which is where we are off to today.
Luckily we are not adventuring with anyone else today, so if we don’t turn up until mid afternoon it is no problem. It is a relief to have that flexibility, as I am still at the eating dry toast and wincing stage of the game, and the thought of belting up the M1 at lightning speed does not appeal terribly much right at this minute.
I blame the migraine on Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Tallulah had a rehearsal for her show yesterday, and I had to attend, as I needed to talk to some people about various bits of paperwork that are needed to ensure that Tallulah is not being exploited (as if that would ever happen to Tallulah. It’s more likely to be the other way around, frankly). This entailed sitting through two hours of intensive rehearsal of the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang section of the show.
I used to like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Nevermore, quoth the raven.