Life is out of my control....

Rubbish holiday. Grrr. Group of people did not mix well and I, as gracious hostess, was horribly distracted and saddened by the totally unexpected death of my Uncle at the beginning of the week.

He had what you could argue is the ideal departure for him. In the middle of a walk, hunting for butterflies, he sat upon a rock and never got up again. This is fine but it is fifteen years earlier than any of us thought he would go. My father said the saddest thing. "I have had a brother for 73 years, and now I don't". Heartbreaking for him and for my Uncle's wife and son.

I didn't come rushing home. There were reasons for it, and I think they were right, but this week is now a maelstorm of trying to cram a week's work into half a day, move flights around and find black clothes to wear for the various services taking place on Thursday and Friday.

I had to cancel a set of flights for work to france and move them to tonight, and I can't claim on the insurance because they want a copy of the death certificate and I can't bring myself to ask for it. It seems so callous.

So forgive my absence from the ether world for a while. I leave for France tonight and am back just for funerals before going away again for work.

I feel as though I never went on holiday. The only reminder is my still packed suitcase sitting in the hall, where I expect it will remain for another ten days, my still damp swimming costume rotting away somewhere at the bottom of it.

Revenge of the Welsh Yeti

So, I failed miserably to write a blog yesterday. You could argue that this was a good thing as it meant that I actually did rather a large amount of work and ticked off all the pre holiday panic list by four o'clock.

So now here I am with my living earnt for today and only my Victorian bathing suit to pack for my holiday. I should be a leprechaun of happiness but instead I feel rather worried and depressed. I hate that.

What is truly cross making is that the reason for this misery is that the Beauty Salon who were charged with the responsibility of stripping away the last of my winter coat and buffing me up to look gorgeous for my holiday rang this morning and CANCELLED ME!!!!! How could they. I was relying on them transform me from the Welsh Yeti to something akin to Catherine Zeta Jones before she became Mrs Smug Douglas. I feel robbed, cheated and victimised all at once and all the joys of the imminent Easy Jet jaunt to sun, sand and a lot of Rose has leached away. Damn them.

They didn't even seem to appreciate the appalling nature of what they had done. In fact they seemed to think I was over reacting when I cried down the phone and then threatened to hunt them down with my hairy yeti legs. Now I have the additional worry that I can never book any sort of treatment there again as theywill think I am deranged and will torture me with hotter than normal wax and dulcet comments about incipient moustaches and the fact that they aren't magicians and can only work with what they are given. Bitches.

So now my holiday is ruined. It is going to take a lot of Rose and possibly a caftan to cover up the disaster and rescue anything from this debacle.