B and I went to THAT LONDON for the weekend, so see something that I found interesting-but-slightly-incomprehensible at Sadler's Wells and generally spend some time not covered in an appealing mixture of plaster dust and sick.
It was very enjoyable. On Friday night we were tucked up in bed at 8.30pm, watching David Attenborough On Badgers and drinking cocoa, whilst Leo stayed with Grandma and Grandpa.
Ah, the bright lights of the city!
Then we came home.
Monday brought plasterers, plumbers and B's dad, Vic, who has been sorting out a shower for us. It was all rather overwhelming.
The plastering is done and dusted and looks great.
The plumbers disassembled the existing system and then rather shuffly-feetedly enquired whether we knew anyone who could wire in the odd combination of pumps and thermostats required to make the Dunsley Baker Neutraliser work properly. Luckily, the chap doing the plasterering is a Man Sent From God, and between them, he and B sat down and made sense of the wiring diagram. However, we have been without central heating for two VERY cold nights (-7 centigrade) and B is still head-down, arse-up in the airing cupboard, trying to figure it out. Luckily we've got a gas heater and a couple of electric fan heaters; but it's still not much fun.
Vic has gone home without completing his shower job. I had a bit of a panic attack yesterday evening and he forced a chat with B and I about what happened; which pushed me right over the edge in to full blown hysteria. Today, I feel like I've been beaten up.
In-laws can be so difficult, can't they? I love them dearly - but they have been here for three days out of every seven since the New Year and I really feel that my house is not my own. If I follow my own routines, I get looked at with askance - he doesn't approve of me spending so much time on the PC and I got a bollocking last night for revealing that I had had a chat with the lovely Stegbeetle on MSN when I HAVEN'T MET HIM IN REAL LIFE AND HE COULD BE ANYONE. Shock! Horror!*
Of course we haven't gone in to the ins and outs of the panic attacks, where we think they stem from and all the work I have done on myself, with Kate and Vic. Sometimes it's difficult enough to let B close when I am in that kind of state, let alone anyone else. I appreciate that it was really difficult for Vic to bring the subject up - he finds emotions really hard to deal with; but I felt so under attack. And you don't really want to chat about childhood abuse and rape over after dinner coffee, do you? Particularly when you are all sat in fingerless gloves and woolly hats and one of you has dreadful pregnancy-induced nausea.
So, after about twenty minutes of it, I removed myself to the kitchen and had a nice bout of hysterics and hyperventilation whilst doing the washing up. I kept trying to calm myself down by telling myself to remember the baby and not work myself up in to a miscarriage - but it didn't really help. In the end, B came in and helped me calm down, and I went to bed. And this morning, I stayed in bed whilst he and Leo took Vic home, nominally because Vic has developed a head-cold of startling proportions; but actually because I am in a place where I can't bear the idea of having to talk to anyone.
In the car, B was too mentally tied up with the central heating system to talk about what had happened and Vic felt too rough. So I have no idea whether things are better or worse than last night.
I am going to let the chickens out for a bit. And bash their water with a stick to de-ice it. And see whether my cauliflower seedlings have survived under their bubble-wrap in the greenhouse.
Mr and Mrs Kitchen Witch are visiting for the weekend - the feminine half of the group are planning on sitting in our nightwear, eating pancakes and drinking cocoa whilst watching some kind of feminine dvds, while the masculine half moves the chicken house. It's peculiar how some people are low pressure visitors and some are high pressure, isn't it? The KW's definitely come in to the first category - perhaps it's because we know one another quite well because of blogging and therefore there is an emotional shorthand there that I don't share with Kate and Vic? Or perhaps it's because we share similar eccentricities?
At least I will be able to vomit in my own toilet without having to ask my father in law to climb out of the shower first.
*At this point, Steg, please don't reveal that you are an axe murderer, it would undermine my point.