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Well I’m finished work for the week and enjoying an evening at home unmarred by the prospect of having to get up at 5:15 am. I’m sitting up in the loft surrounded by a lot of beads plotting my next move while my husband plays BF2 and Lucy, our cat, sits between him and the keyboard. All I can hear is the hum of his machine, sometimes frantic clicking, occasional game sounds from his headphones and a lot of purring.

All in all a peaceful, content evening at home

About a year ago, in an effort to make sure that every one sees a doctor within 48 hours, the surgery where my husband I are registered changed their booking proceedure. No longer can you book a week in advance. Instead you have to call on the day (lines are open from 8am and invariablly busy) to try and make an appointment. This is a good thing if you have to see the doctor that day, you aren’t fussed which of the doctors you see or if the one you want to see is in every day.

However we’ve been under going fertility treatment (investigation and dawdling) for 3 years now, and, having had it determined by the NHS specialist that nothing more can be done in the public health system, we need to now go back and get referred to a private specialist. Reasonably enough we want to see the doctor locally who has been dealing with our case, its been a bad enough experience all round and I for one don’t want to compound it by having work with another doctor who I am not used to and who isn’t familiar with our case. Unfortunately our doctor is only in two days a week. As as with everything that has happened with respect to this whole thing Jon was unable to make an appointment, so we try again on Friday. One wonders if it isn’t too much to be able to make a consultative appointment a week in advance, especially for such a sensitive issue.

This whole experience has been rotten from beginning to end as can be imagined; I, as the designated female in this piece have had to under go all kinds of tests, before it dawned on them after two years(!) that perhaps, they might want to test my husband which it turns is where things are going wrong, and treatment will mean a proceedure for him and ICSI for me. So I believe I’m entitled to be just a teeny bit peeved, and being unable to make a simple appointment is looking to be the last straw.

However I have my fingers and toes crossed that in the long long run this is just another hiccup in our child-sourcing adventure, as really after the first two and a half years it all does become rather funny in its apparent lack of success. And who knows, this time next year I’ll probably look as if I swallowed a beach ball and be giving out about my back!

Whenever I’m feeling a bit directionless - feeling more than usually apathic about work , life and the prospect catching up on the laundry pile (which has currently acheived sentience and is possibly under going a renaissance period) - I tend to move furniture about.

Now, I’m not talking moving chairs and tables, I mean large scale furniture, large scale movement. Yesterday I moved every single piece of furniture in the bedroom around: 1 bed, 2 wardrobes (our pathetic, pre-job/money shrunk-in-the-wash canvas sided ones, I’m strong but not that strong), 2 chests of drawers, 1 tall set of drawers, and 1 bedside table. The bookshelf unit thing got relegated back under the stairs again. Ok, so I wasn’t quite accurate, once piece of furniture is still in its previous location, namely my bedside table - I might get bored again later on in the week.

This kept me busy and largely out of any trouble for most of the day and I didn’t box myself into any corners. Nothing compares to the time I managed to wedge a pine double bed between the floor and ceiling of my parent’s upstairs landing! I kid you not, to this day I still don’t know how I got it there much less how I got it out again!

The result however is that the room feels less cluttered. I also found about 3 scrunchy foil balls and 7 plastic cat-milk bottle lids which Lucy plays with under the bed, they were under the bed, its a divan so she can’t get under it

I’ve been making some beaded beads lately. They are very dangerous; one just isn’t enough. However, they are a great way of using up beads of which you have only a limited number. I’ve made a handful of them in, what are best termed ‘autumnal’, shades and made a bracelet from some of them.