Hmm, two weeks worth of news. In this babble, I will see how economical I can be with words. As a reminder, the last instalment ended on the last day of a break for Easter.

So. Work. Bleh. Friday off, shopping, Andrea, Liverpool. Fun. sunshine.

Weekend. House viewing. Nice people.

More work, bleh. Half day Wednesday, drove to Loughborough with Steve, Euan and Other Steve. Still sunny. Register on campus for CSSC Games 2007. Find hotel. Drink pint. Play with Euan. They had . Find food. Sleep. Not very well.

Thursday tummy cramps, lots of being sick. Go to rugby anyway, can't play, sit and watch, give up and go back to campus. Our team got to semi-final, with absolutely no input from me. Rather gutted.

Home, sleep. Friday still poorly. Sleep.

Saturday, town with Dan, Abbey will pay up £1.4k to avoid court, many many yays. Can now afford new boiler. Get Euan back, take for haircut.

Home, housework, Steve back from paintballing, covered in bruises. Chips for tea.

And today, it's raining. Not fair, I was just getting used to all that sunshine, and rather enjoying it! Steve is suffering from the nasty paintball shots that got him. And the "No playing on the XBox until you're dressed" rule has had to be imposed on both Euan and Steve...

So. Nearly three weeks since the last babble, been quite busy.

Life went on as normal. Each day I walked Euan to school, we went past the old primary school, which was being demolished, so we stopped to watch the diggers chewing up big bundles of metal struts and lumps of roof. And every day we had the same conversation.
"That's Steve's school, isn't it Mummy!"
"Yep, that's right."
"He used to work there, didn't he?"
"No, he used to go to school there, when he was little like you."
"Oh. At my school?"
"Yep."
"Oh, look, it's all broken!"

It's only taken a couple of weeks to clear the site. Steve paused as we were driving past to appreciate the pang of nostalgia. Ironic, as he would have loved to see his school in a heap of rubble when he was a pupil there...

Grandma's funeral was on the 28th March. The Saturday before had been spent at her house - sorting, tidying, cleaning, emptying everything out of the fridge... Strange the things that don't occur to you - the plants were in desperate need of watering.

On the Sunday, Mum and I went shopping in Chester. Of course, this involved more tea breaks than actual shops, but was a day well spent anyway.

Then there were just two days to get through in work - which was getting easier - and the funeral. I decided Euan could go to school and nursery as usual, because I don't think attending would have furthered his comprehension of what had happened.

I did tell him.

I was worried that his only concept of death came from TV and video games. As in, you had to be shot or stabbed or something, and blood came out, and it meant you had lost. Or, alternatively, there were the little birds and mice that occasionally turn up on our doorstep, which we respectfully put in the dustbin whilst saying, "Poor birdie, naughty Max."

We watched Watership Down, which he really enjoyed, but he was very upset when Hazel died. I explained that Hazel was just quite old, and died because you can't live forever. He replied that yes, you could. I changed tack and said he was happy, because he'd helped all the other rabbits find somewhere safe to live, so he didn't mind following the black rabbit. Euan just said he didn't want him to. I changed the subject.

I told him about Grandma the next day. I explained that it was a bit like Hazel the rabbit, and he said, "Oh. OK."

I don't think it really sank in, because at her house he asked where she was. To be fair, it hasn't really sunk in for me either. I keep having to remind myself she's not coming back.

The funeral was... well, it was a funeral. We rode in the posh car. We went into the crematorium. The vicar said things about Grandma that were more-or-less accurate, considering he was working from Mum's handwritten notes. Just reading one of Mum's shopping lists can be a challenge, and you could end up buying meathooks instead of mushrooms, plungers instead of oranges, and pencils instead of lentils.

So it didn't really matter that he mixed up the Mediterranean cruising holidays that she enjoyed with Grandad, with the narrowboat holidays we all enjoyed on Ammeleina. We knew what he meant.

Dan read a poem. Mum and I had been "helping" him practise reading it, which for me meant sniggering and telling him he sounded like a newsreader. I was laughing with him! Not at him! He did very well on the day.

We went outside. The collection tray was empty because we were the first to walk past it. Steve pulled a handful of change out of his pocket, which also contained a poker chip from Ryan's stag do about a week earlier. I was secretly hoping he'd put the poker chip in.

Outside, we loitered around a bit, smiling at people, being hugged, looking at the flowers. The flowers from the Duke & Duchess drew quite a lot of interest, but she did used to work for them, and she always got a Christmas card. The weather was bright and fairly warm, but no doubt Grandma would have been chilly, and wanting a nice cuppa tea, so we moved on to Cross Lanes for the buffet.

The food was good. There was plenty of it. Alas, Grandma would have been disappointed - none of us took the leftovers home in our handbags "for later".

Afterwards Steve and I came straight home because I'd had a headache for a few days and it was starting to pester me again. Some of the others went back to Mum's. We just slept. Steve picked Euan up for me and made tea. I was more tired than I thought.

The next day I had to leave work early and go to the doctor, because the headache was worse, and I was feeling sick and dizzy, and really unwell. Several people had put forward theories - from a painkiller dependency because I'd been popping lots of paracetamol, ibuprofen and Day Nurse throughout my cold, to the onset of migraines because of my dislike of bright lights.

The doctor said a sinus infection was the more likely cause, and prescribed some antibiotics. She fixed me. The relief was amazing. The demons left my head. The Friday in work was much easier. I stayed until 9.30pm to catch up on a few things. Like my flexi, which had taken a battering. And writing my self-review thing, which is part of my annual appraisal thing. I even tidied my desk.

On the Saturday, Steve and I were up early and driving to the airport for our flight to Amsterdam. We had gorgeous Spring weather. Our hotel was cheap and cheerful, and even had BBC1 on the TV. Not bad for 2 star. The beds (I said DOUBLE not TWIN, there's a pigging DIFFERENCE because with DOUBLE no-one falls down the GAP in the middle of the night.) weren't very comfy, but as Steve pointed out I have irretrievably spoiled him with boutique hotels with king size beds and underfloor heating and stuff. Horses for courses. When spoiling oneself, do it properly. When staying in Amsterdam, go for location! And it was perfectly-placed. We explored a lot on foot, we were very lucky with food, finding lovely restaruants at reasonable prices, and we brought back some giant dice and a giant pencil. No, I'm not really sure why either, but they look very cool, so clearly visiting a few coffee shops didn't affect my judgment too badly. On the Sunday we were up and about, and straight into the internet cafe we'd reconnoitred the night before. And we both paid for a terminal. And we both tried repeatedly to get into the Glastonbury booking site. When it looked like we weren't having any luck, Steve phoned Colin back home to activate Plan B. So now we were both trying, so was Colin, and he was able to sit on hold to the telephone booking line too. He eventually got through to a recorded message saying not to bother trying any more. So we stopped.

Bummer. So we walked to the Anne Frank House, and decided against queuing with a load of Euro-tourists. Instead we went next door for a coffee and a pastry. Very yum.

We went to the Torture Museum. They had constructed some narrow passageways, which they lit very dimly, to try and add a bit of drama to their collection of wooden and metal objects. There was a lot of squinty-reading involved and when we were halfway round I got claustrophobic and felt panic attacks coming on. There was nowhere to sit calmly without causing a scene, so we walked past the rest of the exhibition and out into the daylight, where after five minutes gazing at a canal I was fine.

I felt daft, and annoyed at myself for wasting our money. They would probably have let us back in, but I still felt a bit shaky.

We went to the Sex Museum instead, which sits on one of the tacky tourist bits, surrounded by shops selling clogs and places offering fish n chips. It was better than the torture museum, but some of the bondage/s&m displays were pretty much interchangeable with the Mediaeval punishment scenes from the latter. I felt a bit panicky again, and my head was spinning, so Steve went up to the second floor alone whilst I sat between a couple of six-foot phalluses, concentrating on slowing my breathing down. He said there wasn't much upstairs anyway. Basically, the place was trying to tell us that sex is not just a modern, recent development, but that people have in fact been having sex for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands! Well, bugger me. And there was indeed a bit of buggery on display. I would certainly have liked to see more variety though. Like what fetishes were popular before rubber was invented? And it was all very much visual-based insert-tab-A-into-slot-B kind of stuff. Nothing about societies' changing attitudes or shifting taboos. But then they probably wouldn't get so many people through the turnstiles...

So, we did a lot of strolling, quite a lot of sleeping, soaked up a bit of culture, avoided Americans, ogled some of the charming ladies in their windows, and managed to survive for four days without getting tangled up in the spokes of any fast-moving bikes.

We came back on the Tuesday, and stayed at Steve's.

I went shopping in Chester with Andrea on the Wednesday, which involved more shops than the outing with Mum. I had to find an outfit for Ryan & Rachel's wedding the next day. Found an outift, which meant I could concentrate on accessories, and got quite annoyed that I couldn't buy any rings. I've always been self-conscious about my hands, but it's simply embarrassing when size XL gets stuck on your knuckle. Ever tried to surreptitiously struggle with a stuck ring in a high street shop? Don't. It's not fun.

Sensing my mounting annoyance, Andrea suggested Evans, which does larger clothes. We went in. I tried on some rings. They all fitted, even size M! I actually had a choice of jewellery, instead of settling for "whatever gets past the second joint". I bought three, with a huge grin on my face, reassured that I didn't really have Yeti Hands, I had just been shopping in Midget Shops.

The wedding the next day was lovely. We got there just in time, thanks to an accident getting in our way, and a few tours of Oswestry trying to find our hotel in the one-way system. Arrived at Sweeney Hall Hotel (for twas there that it was, verily) just in time to get ushered into the function room where Ryan & Rachel tied the knot. Then we all trooped outside into the glorious sunshine for photos, then back inside for the speeches, then the buffet, which was yum, then the disco. (I've just compressed eight hours' worth of activity into a couple of sentences. But people know what happens at weddings.) The atmosphere was lovely, it was just one of those days that felt good. Unfortunately, around 9pm, I got all panic attacky. People thought I was sulking or something, but really I just wanted somewhere to hide for a few minutes. Robin did say I could go and sit in their room with Caroline, but that would mean explaining about panic attacks to new people... and the worst time to try and do that is when you're in the middle of one. So the others politely drifted off, and Steve sat next to me. I just felt like a freak again, occasionally having to step off this big carousel and say, "Pause!" I felt stupid, and awkward, and ugly. I cried a bit, then hid in the toilets, cooling my wrists down under a tap, then felt better. It was embarrassing more than anything. I wish I had little cards to hand out saying, "Excuse me while I crumble into a strange little heap. Normal service will be resumed shortly." Anyway. The evening was fun. We went back to our hotel. We had a gorgeous room with rafters and beams, and wooden floors, and a jacuzzi bath, and stuff. It's a shame we couldn't enjoy it for longer. The breakfast was excellent, the owners of the place were lovely, I just wish we had an excuse to go again!

So we drove back Friday. And we went to see 300. Which we both really liked. We'd bought the graphic novel in Amsterdam, so we were able to compare, contrast and discuss the way it had been adapted like real film critics. We ate pizza. We went home.

Saturday, Euan came back from Cardiff. I'd really missed him. He did his usual clingy thing, where he doesn't want to come back, but he was OK five minutes later. We went shopping, refilling the fridge with goodies. Yesterday was a picnic with Nana Jan and Uncle Dan, followed by a trip on a steam train. Euan loved it.

And today... has been spent avoiding thinking about work tomorrow. We've eaten Easter eggs and set up a huge Thomas the Tank Engine track. I even let Euan have a go earlier. Steve cooked a leg of lamb in his creative cheffy way, and had a discussion with Euan about how it really was a lamb's leg, but the fluffy bits had been taken off.

I love how Euan can say things that make you think about stuff that's otherwise taken for granted. Like, "Why is money round?" or "This water feels wet."