I never thought I’d describe myself as an ocean going vessel.  It’s not generally something you see yourself as, but that’s what came into my head as I begun this post.  I’m sure I’m not anything particularly grand or exciting like HMS Beaufoix or Pride of Mansfield, in fact I’m probably more of a dingy with maybe an outboard motor that works occasionally, but it feels like the last two nights the blogosphere and I have been like two boats passing in the night I am in such a rush.

I need to write, but I also need to finish my application form, sleep, and psych myself up for a big tidy as the Estate Agents are coming round tomorrow to take photos of our house so they can make it look as attractive as possible so that somebody somewhere will buy it.  Scary.

We have to sell.  We’ve realised there’s no choice and I’m so sad as I really wanted Mr B to keep it.  It’s obviously just not meant to be I suppose.

Giving blood was fine.  The nurse, (or that other word that I cannot spell and have no time to look up but sounds like ‘flebotomist’) who hooked me up wasn’t the friendliest and seemed to see my legs as a table she could hurl her clipboard down on at random moments, which didn’t exactly put me at ease…but the nice man who actually checked on me was much more pleasant and informed me if I could do child birth this would be a breeze.  He was right, it was.  I’m so glad I did it and I was amazed at how many other people were there that I knew.  I’ve already booked my next appointment.

 Right.  I’m off.  It’s 10pm and I have a 2 side personal statement to finish.  It’s so long since I’ve done an application that its taking me an age.  Phew.

Don’t go talking to any strange yachts now people, and please toot your horn at me should you see me atop a large wave heading for Bob knows where, hopefully a rest.  Mwah.