I have a doctor's appointment for Tuesday, though I'm not sure I'll have the restraint to not rush in there bellowing 'GIVE ME THE DRUGS,' so if I feel any worse tomorrow morning I think an emergency appointment is on the cards, especially as I'm meant to be spending this weekend in London with the blokie.

I told my mum today that I'm in pain and have a bladder infection and thankfully she didn't ask how I acquired it - 'Through SEX, mother!' I wouldn't say, but she did seem concerned about my wellbeing.

In slightly happier news I'm kind of enjoying my job at the moment. I don't wake up in the morning full of dread, which has got to be some indication it's ok. I don't even mind early mornings hardly AT ALL anymore. Alarm goes off a bit before seven, a couple of snoozes, up at seven and listen to Chris Moyles for half an hour (for the love of God, please someone tell me you appreciate the humour of Sting Ring), then I get ready whilst watching Friends at half seven before setting off to get a bus at quarter past eight. Routine ain't all that bad and is certainly better than the days when I'd wake up and wonder what I was going to do to fill the next twelve hours or so.

My most amusing moment at work today was when I went to make 20 copies of a six-page form and accidently keyed in 120 copies instead. I couldn't make it stop either, which I found rather humorous, until I was helped by a delicious looking man who works on the team behind me. Ahh...

But anyway, the bladder thing is pissing me off. And I think that was the worst pun in the world so I think I'll leave this here and go and forage for something to have for dinner.

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