But at least they've put the SOLD sign on!

I have decided (with help from The Talented One) that the purpose of this blog is going to be to document both my struggle to understand the Oh So Complicated procedures involved in house buying and the Oh So Unfair struggle with endometriosis. What this means is that the two people I know who are reading this blog may not want to because 1) the first purpose might be boring and 2) the second one might be disgusting. Both equally good reasons not to bother with it.. Oooh! Just thought of another one, my really bad grammar! Grammar (despite the english degree I have) is not something I care about, so sorry in advance for all the loooooong sentances with no punctuation, it's an afflication I have suffered since I was a small person.

To begin then, the house purchase continues with two loooong hours with a mortgage advisor speaking in his brummy/nigerian lisp explaining that this will basically cost us all the money we, ahem, I have saved over the course of my life. We, ahem, I parted with close to £900 on Saturday, before lunchtime (because of course usually I like to spend thousands of pounds after lunch) for a house we have spent a grand total of 25 minutes in. But never mind we thought, it's all going to be worth it in the end we thought. Glenn has been getting paler and paler since we were passed the piece of paper detailing the monthly cost of this mortgage and when the realisation hit that no, we can't go on holiday and buy a house in the same year, he almost passed out. Ah well, at least he can have his games room, with a leather easy chair (he'll get a bean bag and he will like it), a TV for the XBox sessions he's planning (the Tv's are going in the living room and the bedroom so I don't where that's coming from) and the football fixtures pinned on the wall (the wall I am most likely to have painted?! Now what do you think the likelihood of that is...?). Then the brummy Nigerian phoned this morning to say he has forgotten to take a copy of the wage slips we handed over last week, so the whole thing is delayed still and my nerves are slowly shredding themselves.

As for the Other thing (Ant, you should probably stop reading now, save your delicate sensibilities) , a letter from the consultant asking me to see my GP about some 'disturbing' test results that came back last month (which I did not open until three weeks after it was sent because he still has my parents address listed as my home address) resulted in a sleepless night and a panicked phone call to the surgery only to be told it was nothing, don't worry, and quote 'we treat patients, not test results and if you feel fine, then you are fine'; so that means my GP is high, and he's not sharing the doobies with me!!