annanotbob's Diaryland Diary
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Opened up and shouted out and never tried to sing
So this is the day when Sammie was told her MS is no longer relapse and remit, but has now become secondary progressive. Neither she nor I have any clear idea what this means. Well, she may have by now, if she decided to google it, but I haven't managed to do this yet. I feel I may need someone with me, or maybe I'll call the MS Trust in the morning. I'm not going to go into any great palaver about how I feel. I HATE IT when I see journalists asking people how they feel about things that have happened. If you can't imagine how it feels, good. Or fuck off. I keep changing my mind about that so I'll leave them both there, but someone somewhere needs to fuck off, or at least be told to FUCK RIGHT OFF, but I think that's just a metaphor, don't you?
I don't want to lose the last few days, so it's list and/or notes and pics.
1. After the boat excitement, Sara and I were very tired and did nothing the next day except doze and read, separately, me on the beach, her by the pool. In the evening we got pissed on sangria and did the pub quiz at the bar, coming second which was OK but didn't win us a bottle of champagne.
2. The next day we had to be out of the room by ten, but weren't picked up for the airport till six, so we went on a bus to a different beach. Sara scared the living daylights out of me by hurling herself off a cliff into the sea, but survived to do it again and again and then demand that I come and take pictures:
Had I seen this picture of me before we arrived home I might have tightened the ties on the halter neck, but there you go. This is where breasts are at after three kids and fifty five years, worn low and comfortable:
I'd also forgotten that I started drinking quite early in preparation for the flight:
What I loved about Menorca:
1) The beaches, for their clean pale sand and crystal clear water, but especially that narrow strip of hard wet sand between the waves and the soft dry beach, which was almost heart-breaking:
That was all really, there is no number 2. I liked some of it, but it wasn't really my thing. Being a Brit abroad these days is like being American. The rest of the world hate us both, and can barely conceal their contempt.
It was good to go into town today. I love living here. This is my home.
12:05 a.m. - 10/09/2009
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