Well...I'll be honest with you bloggettes. Totally honest. I'm sitting in my pants and socks in a hotel room in Manchester staring vacantly at a TV show about a bear called Lily who might get shot soon, and wondering what to write to you about.
It's a low point I think. The day didn't start well - you know a day's not going to be good when the first thing you hear in the morning is that the contraceptive you're on has failed 600 people so far... I was a little concerned. I felt a couple of hours rubbing my tummy and wondering if I was knocked up, and then I researched the story about those that had gotten pregnant.
The thing is, the folks that got pregnant apparently hadn't noticed that their implant was not in their arm. If you're not familiar with the implant, it's basically a stick like a candy cigarette that goes in your arm and keeps the babies away. Not ones that have already been born - although that would be useful. But, I don't understand how they could realise it's not in there?
Surely someone in the procedure of injecting it in must have noticed that the stick was still external to the body? Unless the nurse freaked out and was like 'Yeah, yeah we just duct tape them to your face and, erm, no one will shag you so no babies for you!'.
So I've basically gone from that, to my current bear-pants scenario.
I've just come back from dining out alone. I'm away working for the night by the way, not on the lamest mini break in the land. When dining out alone, I have learnt, don't choose an Italian restaurant. You will immediately be surrounded by couples smiling wanly at you and making bets at how quickly you will cry or when you'll give up waiting for your date.
The solution to this pity it turns out, is to have a full blown conversation with your invisible partner and have a better time than the couples are. I sat and played with my empty ring finger and whispered sweet nothings beyond the flickering flame of my bottled candle.
Apparently though my spinstery vibe was offputting because I was brought the bill halfway through my watery salmon. I scowled, took 45 minutes (new record) to finish my dinner out of spite, paid up and came back here.
Now I am back. I tried to shower. I failed at showering. How long do you spend butt naked with your hand in some tepid water before you work out there's no hot water and go put some clothes on? I gave it almost 8. Sort of through a misguided faith that something ought to go right today.
On the plus side the show seems to be nearly over and none of the bears have been shot. Thrilled? Me too. Let's both get some sleep and hope tomorrow's haul round Manchester is better.
For the record, I hate to be alone. I am a social creature. Being alone in a hotel room is just about as miserable as I get.