Spitting

I've had a post boiling up inside for the last few days. I'm full of the frustrations of the ongoing CPE saga, trying to register to work independently and discovering it would be far easier to declare myself unemployed. Poor Frog has been dragged to four different Government offices to try and ensure that this is dealt with quickly and efficiently, which was his own idea (though he's fast trying to disown it). And I have been standing, glowering at the view of 1000's of students marching past the flat because they think they deserve not to work whilst the rest of the country goes on strike.

I'm cynical and bitter and I'm in despair for the future of this country I've chosen to live and work in.

But I won't write that post. Instead I'll give you my other favourite complaint of the moment: my hair!

I can't cut it until just before the wedding. It's driving me crazy, I have no style, the grey is showing (I'm a mousy blonde, brown; how can I go grey?!) and it is daily scraped back into a ponytail with a sigh.

One day I will have this type of good hair day again... we'd just moved into the flat it was sunny enough to wear sunglasses and our Swedish friends were visiting. Roll on May 20th!