Chickens in a box

I'm finding it very hard to relax. At the moment I've got quite a bit of free time, but if I sit down and read/sleep/watch a film then I start to feel terribly guilty and think about all the housework I could/should be doing. Alas actually moving from the sofa/armchair/bed then becomes a battle between one part of my brain telling me to get up and do something constructive, and the other half trying to convince me not to bother. Today despite a morning's Christmas shopping followed by BodyPump I could only manage 30 minutes of 'Twilight' before forcing myself to get up and do the ironing. Having finished, it's a choice between cleaning the silver or writing this. No contest.

Women are like waves, or so it's been said. Up one minute and then they come crashing down the next. I conform absolutely to this stereotypical synopsis of the female condition; supermum/domestic goddess/gym babe one day and a miserable, fat, pale failure the next. An increasingly cold, dark, wet November does little to help things when you're in a trough, but luckily I have Eddie who's been trying really hard to cheer me up. Yesterday he treated me to a hair cut in an actual salon (have been getting it done at home for the past few months due to budget cuts/lack of clients). V exciting and I had a great idea for how I wanted to come out with a sleek chestnut bob. I didn't. Instead, I came out looking like Dannii Minogue on a bad day. The day went from bad to worse when a horrified William asked me to "put my old hair back on." Eventually Eddie came home from work and I burst into tears. All credit to him for attempting to be nice, but this is Eddie we...

Eddie bottling up his cache of cider. We're told our eyesight will return after a couple of days.