41.702127659574468085106382978723 plus VAT

It's Halloween. Sorry, but I just can't get on with this 'celebration' at all. I buy the sweets, I smile at the kids - hell I even dressed as a fairy in a bright pink fairy dress complete with wand, wings and tiara and trailed round the streets with my daughter a couple of years back - but I just don't get it at all. But Happy Halloween to those of you that do.

More importantly, yesterday was Jonathan's birthday. He is now 41.702127659574468085106382978723 plus VAT. So it's one of the (last few) big ones next year.

I was shopping with Ysabella in a cheap shop that sells cheap DVD sets. 'Go choose one for your dad's birthday,' said I.

She came back with a 3 pack of Tom Cruise's (DVDs, not stomach muscles) 'Does your dad want these?' 'Don't think so' she said.

'Brilliant - they'll do fine.' I said - much to the amusement of the shop assistant, but hey, we've been together for 25 of my birthdays and 24 Christmas's andI think he's only managed to buy me presents I wanted about 5 times out of the 49 present-buying occasions (no, I get sod all for Valentine's day). This birthday I asked for one CD, he got me a single CD, a double CD and a triple CD - none of which were the one I wanted.

'Err, thank you,' said Jonathan when I gave him his lovely present (unwrapped, price still on), and being as sensitive as ever he then asked 'Why did you get me these?'

'Isn't it what you wanted?' I asked as sweetly as possible,

'Well, no, not really' says he.

'Oh good!'

A very frightening thought

It's my wedding anniversary tomorrow.

Twenty four years.

I have been married longer than I was single. I've told Jonathan I need a few more single years to balance things up, but he doesn't understand.

Twenty four bloody years.

Can't believe I've managed to put up with him for that long.

And now for something completely different

I am still supporating, but, as Imogen pointed out, it IS self inflicted and now is the time to stop wallowing in self-pity and tell you what else I've been doing.

Well, this is my 3rd week at university. I am a full-time mature student, and so is Jonathan. Emphasis on the mature. Most of the mature students there are about 25 - 29, so we are old enough to be the 'mature' students' parents - and, probably, some of the lecturers' too. It is quite funny really cos we've had a lot of double-takes from lecturers, and I even got called down to the front in one lecture to represent the labour force (which will be hilarious to anyone who knows me.)

I'm sure he called me down to the front cos he wanted to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him and I really was as old as he thought I was. To oblige him further I staggered down, bent double, to the front, so he's probably wondering why he has this 90 year old taking Economic Awareness when really I should be concentrating on choosing my nursing home.

Anyway, he obviously respects his elders cos he came over to us outside while I was enjoying the sunshine (hasn't the weather been fabulous) and Jonathan was having a fag (filthy habit) and said he hoped I didn't mind him picking on me. Awww, bless. He's very sweet, we enjoyed his lecture, he's quite cute AND he is younger than me - by one year.

We're struggling with keeping up with the reading for a variety of reasons. I have mostly been wiped out by the effort of getting to lectures and have flaked out in bed most afternoons, and Jonathan has been doing everything - and I mean everything - including re-decorating Ysabella's bedroom and assembling a compete set of new furniture, which hasn't left him a lot of time. Hopefully it'll all sort itself out a bit better now I'm feeling a bit more human.

The thing that's amused me most recently was having my first legitimate pint in the Students' Union - at the ripe old age of 47. Oh, and the look on the assitant's face in Dorothy Perkin when I claimed my 15% student discount was pretty funny too.

Pride is painful

Or rather, vanity fucking hurts.

It is now 17 days since my tummy tuck. Hmmm. I know the results take some time before you can see what a fabulous job your plastic surgeon has done, but really, at this point, I wish I'd never bothered.

I have this huge hole in my stomach that a reddish liquid pours out of if I alter my position. The hole is big enough for my finger to go in. No, I don't push my finger in on purpose, but sometimes it slips in accidentally. At least this hole is providing a natural drainage point so my stomach has stopped bursting, although it has managed to make another couple of natural drainage points for itself, it takes me ages to change all my dressings.

I had an infection which made me feel rather unwell with a fever. I have taken the fashion of 'layering' to new extremes by wearing any item of clothing that happens to be lying around topped off with my dressing gown - and then Jonathan's big thick fleece dressing gown, just in case. And Jonathan never twigged that it was actually me that was turning the thermostat up to 30 degrees. Well, I was so cold.

Got over the infection, down to an average number of clothes and only one thick dressing gown, but my get up and go has most definitely got up and gone. I have turned down 2 offers of social intercourse this week and only had alcohol on one day.

Now do you believe I've felt ill?