Been in limbo for 24 hours, was I going to get a bed at RBH or not, slept fitfully, up at ten to six, walking Lottie Dog at seven. Not something I usually do so early, but feeling hot and flustered thought a gentle walk would be calming, which it was. Lottie has a new nickname, "Pork Scratching," and called her my "Wee little pork scratching," when ever I called her back. Got back home on 7.30 am, and that was it totally lost it, sat on the sofa, hugging Lottie telling her she was my special little girl and how daddy would look after her, and sorry she was being boarded at the vets during the next few days, and it wasn't for ever. God almighty like she would understand! I am only away for ten days, but feel like a vital part of me is missing. The withdrawal symptoms by tomorrow will be out of control, so if you have heard on the national news that mad patient on the rampage at the Royal Brompton Hospital London it is me!
The sad thing about all of this apart from being apart from Lottie, is that darling Richard (husband) didn't even get a peck on the cheek before he left for work, what am I like? Answers on a post card please!