A week since the last babble. Apologies for slackness. I've been busy.

I got tanned - at Beauty With Sara, using the second gift voucher. Result was a bit "you've been Tangoed" and by the time I was getting used to it, it had started to fade. Nice while it lasted, but too surreal.

Collected money for the Prince's Trust outside Tesco's with Dan. In . Felt ridiculous, but the sight of bare legs in the cold morning rain brought out the generous side in people, and between us we made £185 in two hours. Glad to be able to put the outfit to good use.

Then it was home to prepare for the Eurovision party.

Flags, balloons, food - everything was ready. Just needed the finishing touches, provided by Steve. He arrived with a giant Terry Wogan printed on 15 sheets of A4, and a shrine to the chucklesome Irishman. I might keep it all year.

Guests arrived, food was consumed, as was alcohol. Copious amounts of it.

Hoops were hula'ed. That was funny.

Finland won with quite a disturbing entry, and I think Paul won the sweepstake. I was a bit tipsy by then, so the details are fuzzy.

I passed out at about 2am, after doing quite well in the shot downing game (absinthe then vodka), and Steve drew a moustache on me. Fair enough - never fall asleep at a party. Should have stuck to beer.

Sunday was spent cooking breakfast for the people who had slept at the house, mostly on beanbags. Then we mooched, and people gradually trailed off home.

Dad and Cath travelled up yesterday for a belated birthday meal with Dan. Granny couldn't make it as she was poorly. I wasn't allowed to attend because it would "make Catherine uncomfortable".

I spent the day with a black cloud over my head, came home, got drunk, sang (shouted) some Skunk Anansie at the top of my voice, and felt better.

Made Dan a birthday cake at the weekend. Think he liked it, but was scared of the .

Quite an achievement to make a cake that comprises of chocolate cake & icing, and chocolate fingers, and Flake, and golden syrup cake, and jaffa cakes, and little colourful decorating thingies. Overkill? Never.

He and mum came round with a takeaway on Sunday. Think it gave me food poisoning. Not sure, but I've been unable to eat without feeling sick, dizzy and lightheaded ever since. Off work Monday and Tuesday.

Went into work today, to be told how ill I looked. On one hand, it's nice when people say that because I think, "At least they don't think I'm a malingering skiver." But then again, they might as well have just said, "Did you fall in a puddle of shit on your way here?" And there's nothing like someone saying you look a bit peaky, to make you feel thoroughly unwell - that little twinge in your shoulder, suddenly a crippling ache. Or that ringing in your ears? Sure it's getting worse. Was that a stomach flutter? Should I have stayed at home again? Am I about to spray a trail of vomit all the way to the toilets?

Well, no. Because I'm fine.

But give my imagination a tiny bit of fuel and watch the blaze rage.

In other news, went out for lunch with the group and had a healthy salad. And a big bowl of curly fries, because salad is boring. Back in work I pestered Simon into letting me clear some of the crap off his desktop. There were files there that I had sent him in 2002. He had them in triplicate, for some reason.

Then I went and had a Hollywood. As in, a wax. May I just say at this point... "OUCH! OW OW OW OW OW! That really hurt! OOOOOWWWW!!!!"
...because I was very brave and just kept chatting whilst having it done, even when my eyes watered.

Yep, that's right, sick of the constant battle with stubble I decided to cultivate a little hedgehog and then have it all ripped out at the roots. I was more worried about the social awkwardness than the pain. Wrong. The lady was chatty, relaxed and friendly, and the pain was... painful.

Better now though.

One beauty salon voucher put to good use. Two to go.

Work is now so unpleasant as to be near-intolerable, but I'd rather not spoil any portion of my weekend thinking about it. Suffice it to say, I'm reaching the point where I cry at my desk and spend most of the day trying to work out a practical escape route. I mean one that guarantees an ongoing income, fits around my existing commitments, and has a fair chance of being slightly less miserable.

Everything else is fine. Better than fine actually, in an ironic see-saw of fortunes.

It was Dan's 21st birthday yesterday, bless. Since he's working the evening shift in our office, I put up suitably embarrassing photos of him on Thursday night (he'd taken Friday off, understandably). He hasn't killed me yet, so I think I got away with it. He was at Alton Towers on Friday, then he & Paul joined me, Andrea and a few others in town for drinks. Turned into a good night out, with Andrea's friend Kierion joining us, and proving to be lots of fun. He does sign language evening classes with Andrea, which seemed an excellent way to communicate in noisy clubs & pubs. Naturally, Dan and I demanded to know swearwords, to use on each other wherever possible.

I don't think Dan was impressed with the music or the clientele in Chicago Rock. Both were deemed "too old". I pointed out that the other option (Liquid/Envy next door) was three times as expensive to get into, twice as expensive per drink, and full of 12 year olds. Dan had only brought £2 with him, and since I had been sensible and left my cards at home, I only had a limited amount with me.

We stayed until nearly the end, then went for kebabs and taxis. I took a kebab home for Steve - he couldn't join us, as he's been covering a few shifts for the chef at the Llwyn Onn this week.

The weekend was fun. Booked two appointments at Beauty With Sara. Oh, all right then, I didn't book them, I just pointed to the relevant items on the list of treatments available, and I let Steve book them. But at least I remained in the room this time. I'm getting braver.

Then we picked Euan up and went to meet Andrea, Aidan and Ethan at the Jolly Jungle. Hadn't been for a while.

Euan thought it was . But then again, so did ... and Aidan insists he only went down the for Ethan's benefit. Still, at least it kept out of trouble. Until he disappeared in the treacherous ball pit and Euan tried to him.

As usual, Euan didn't want to leave until had been used, and even it was difficult to tear him away.

A tiring afternoon, for the adults at least. Euan started calling me "Gemma" because everyone else was. He thought it was very funny. Ethan decided I was more fun than his parents, and Euan decided Steve was more fun than me. I can count seven distinct bruises on my arms alone, but I earned every single one. Who needs to join a gym when £2.50 gets you a far more enjoyable way of getting hot & bothered?

Sylvia & Colin were away, so the three of us went back to Steve's. Euan wasn't tired. Typical.

Monday - work, training. In at 9.30am, getting better. All our computers were being replaced (workstation refresh programme or something) so I stood around drinking coffee for several hours. Tuesday - work, training. Then a constructive evening making a masterpiece out of wood and chicken wire, to keep Britney and Christina within my yard when I let them out of the run, so I don't have to watch them so closely.

So the plan to get into the office early sort of worked. We were there at 9am on Thursday. An hour earlier than usual... but two hours later than planned. Ah well.

Friday was even worse: 9.45. But Fridays don't count.

It would be easier if I had a big stack of work to plough through, as the day goes much faster then. Instead, I was being trained both days, which means trying to work through cases but getting stuck and sidetracked all the time, because none of them are simple, and feeling like I'll never get the hang of it all. Very frustrating, and the glimpses of sunshine through the window don't help.

But today was productive in other ways. Filled in my tax credits declaration. Boring but necessary. And Steve phoned a beauty salon for me.

Not in a cruel "you need to be prettier" way. In a helpful "Why haven't you used all these vouchers?" way. I have three vouchers for Beauty With Sara, all of which have expired. Together they are (were) worth £170. And I'm too scared to go.

I've only been there once: to have my eyebrows waxed. They were very nice, and very professional. But they're all so slim, and well-groomed, and... pretty. So I can't face walking in there and letting a goddess in a white coat see how white and flabby and generally unkempt I am. Or so I thought.

Thanks to Steve's phone call (I ran away, but I believe it went, "My girlfriend is daft and scared...") they are happy to honour the vouchers. So now I just have to ring and book an appointment or two.

Which I absolutely definitely will do. At some point.

Had a strange day on Saturday. Went to pick Euan up from the station at lunchtime, and ended up having an argument with Karl. I'd really rather keep any kind of conflict away from Euan (who simply dragged my bag around in circles for a bit), and I am particularly disinclined to discuss contentious issues with my ex in a public place.

The Surreal Fairy visited around the point where he implied I should be grateful for him taking Euan for the week so I could go on training, and the fact that he hadn't asked for his maintenance back for the time he'd had Euan. You know, his own son and everything...

After gathering my jaw up from floor level, I pointed out that I hadn't asked for the first two weeks of maintenance that he never got round to paying, and that I'd never chased up his £30 towards Euan's passport from a year ago, and also (I might have raised my voice despite my better intentions at this point) that I had simply accepted his paltry maintenance offer of £15 a week without argument. After further discussion of this point ("That's the figure the CSA said was for my circumstances", met with "That's the figure they force you to pay if you don't give a flying fuck about your child and don't want to pay anything" etc), I pointed out that I'd helpfully supported him when he went to stay in Cardiff for a month, and then again without a fuss when he decided to move down there, despite the immense hypocrisy of his actions. He then said that I'd brought it all on myself by splitting up with him.

Why yes, of course, how silly of me. I should have realised it was all my fault.

Ick. I'm getting annoyed again just thinking about it, so that's more than enough of the gory details.

He went to stand on the platform, I pushed the buggy towards town, and decided that there was no way I could go shopping as I'd intended. Not with my mascara starting to form two streaky streams down my cheeks, and the desire to punch things getting overwhelming.

So I went to Mum's. She picked me up, in fact, and after a bacon butty and a cuppa (and an extensive whinge) I felt better.

Then I painted her fence for her. The trellissy bit at the top anyway, before it got chilly. Then Dan cut the grass so that Mum could have something to put in her new compost bin. When Steve came round, Euan thought up his for the bin.

Got home just in time for Doctor Who, but must still have had some pent-up frustration from the earlier conflict, because instead of watching it I spent a while digging over the bark chippings, attacking the compacted earth with a spade so Britney and Christina could dig for worms and bugs properly. Felt better then.

Sunday was also constructive: Steve helped me empty all the junk out of the shed, then Colin came round to load it all into his trailer and take it to the tip. Bye-bye broken tumble drier and freezer, and other accumulated crap. Felt fantastic to get rid of it all.

After all that work, had a nice lie-in on Bank Holiday Monday. Eventually got up and went round to Steve's, as he'd offered to do a full cooked breakfast (Euan had beans & toast). Mooched for the rest of the day, went to see Danny & Kerrie, and rounded the day off with pizza. Spent the day avoiding thinking about the prospect of work.

Tuesday was typically dull in work, but with computer problems to add to the general feeling of elation. Needed lots of shopping, but found that Tesco.com couldn't deliver for a few days. Steve suggested actually visiting a supermarket and filling a trolley. You know, with no clicking involved. My usual reason for internet shopping is that I don't drive, so I might as well pay the online delivery charge as get a taxi.

The other reason is that Euan humps trolleys. Enthusiastically, and with a serious expression on his face. And he screams if I won't let him sit in the trolley. Steve just said it was funny... which it is, when there's someone there to laugh with. Usually it's just me, a red-faced toddler, and puzzled onlookers trying not to stare. So Steve pushed the trolley, I shopped, and Euan bounced a lot and asked for lollipops, constantly. Steve brought his camera because I'd warned him about Euan's odd habit, and he wanted evidence to use when Euan's a teenager, but Euan hates cameras so it didn't work.

Then today, big news in work... Mum's no longer going to be everyone's manager, instead the team's being split, and I get to be on the main team instead of managed separately (potential conflict of interest if your mum's your manager etc).

Went to see Steve's friends Brett & Vicky at lunchtime - they had a baby yesterday so we walked over to the hospital to say hello to baby Zac. Very very cute. All pink and wrinkly and fidgety and tiny. Then we popped to the hospital café where I used to work some evenings as a volunteer, and had very strange cheese on toast.

Have come up with a plan to reduce our flexi with a few early mornings. Starting tomorrow. No, really. Watch me. It is possible to get into work before 10am. Apparently. Wish me luck.