If you Call Me Madam, I may hit you

After three years on a jab that stopped my 'monthly events', I thought I would give my body a break and relent. They can't have been that bad, surely? I'm a grownup now, I can stick it. Better to rest my poor addled hormones and let mother nature run her course, right?

WRONG

After cursing London air for an unusually spot-ridden face, an evening of crying, chocolate and going to bed at 7.30pm two nights ago and a day out shopping that left my legs aching more than usual, my little visitor arrived this morning. It's good to know things never change.

I'm currently in the loosest trousers I can find, with no makeup, hair pinned back (in the pretty vintage-esque slide purchased yesterday - some solace) eating pasta and drinking cups of tea, bracing myself for an afternoon watching James Cagney crime and an Ethel Merman musical on the sofa. God love Film Four.

So much for the decisive *MAKE NEW DRESS* instructed by myself in my diary for today and tomorrow. The bending and scraping required to lay and cutout the fabric, not to mention the shortfuse that will undoubtedly end in low-flying sleeves across the roomm, makes me think that now may not be my most creative time.

Mother Nature is a harpy. Bring on the drugs.