Snow today. Interestingly, bang on forecast. Woke this morning to a white world. One of my colleagues kindly gave me a lift into work as he has a 4x4, the perfect vehicle for this weather. Journey only marred by the fact that his closest ear to me is his deaf ear, and the batteries had gone in his hearing aid, so what should have been a pleasant early morning chat ended up with me bellowing for a bit, then eventually giving up. No refuse collection or street sweeping today - sent the guys home. Office very very quiet and most other people left early especially as they were worried about ice and bus services were quite irregular.

A thoroughly annoying day as a particular Cllr was on the rampage
making all sorts of wild allegations and generally throwing his teddy out of his pram. What is most growl making is the fact that his constant interruptions to moan actually take more time than getting on with the job. Aaargh.

Time now for another of my pet hates. CANCER RESEARCH CAMPAIGN ads. Nothing like a bit of emotional blackmail. Yes, I know that they need to encourage people to give. But I hate the way they ambush you on the radio or on tv when you least expect it, and I am still at the stage where the issue is raw for me. Heard one yesterday on the radio featuring a sobbing woman with the voiceover asking if they were tears of joy or sadness. Felt an instant urge to ensure the latter, most uncharitably. The trouble is that all cancer survivors (and our loved ones) know that surviving is just as hard as going through the treatment (in some ways more difficult). All of us live with the knife edge - we plan our lives from hospital appt to hospital appt rather than the calendar. We worry endlessly about every little ache or sneeze or bump - is IT back? Is that cough a sign of mets in my lungs? Is that twinge in my back a tumour? Meanwhile like swans we gracefully (or not so in some cases) paddle along the surface, running our lives, doing our jobs, having fun. And then all of a sudden while watching some mindless and delightful nonsense on TV, someones sits there looking brave, and says "I shouldn't be here. Or my mum should be here." This kicks you in the solar plexus, ruins your evening and leaves me feeling miserable and conscious of that chap in the black cloak with the scythe sitting apologetically in the corner of the room. So, if you want to support a cancer charity please do so, there are some great ones around. But not the CRC. My vote goes for hospices - they are fab. The care I had in the one in St Albans, Grove House was outstanding. There, rant over for this evening.