Oh GOD, never, ever use Royal Mail for packages. EVAR! First of all, I'm annoyed because my already expensive CafePress mugs need customs charge paying, but the bloody post has made actually paying it and picking my delivery up from their sorting office a nightmarish labyrinth of Gilliamesque red tape. I walked. In the rain. Willing to pay and pick up my sweet, pregnant self. Do I have my mugs yet? No. Do I know when I'll be getting my mugs? No. Here is the customer complain that I had to email instead of tell them BECAUSE THE CUNTS HUNG UP ON ME AFTER I HAD BEEN HOLDING FOREVER that sort-of explains why.

( In which I'm all posh when I'm outraged )
In short, Royal Mail, you have officially the most bollocks Customer Service I've come across in years. No wonder you're going down the shitter. Frankly, I hope you go to the wall. No business that inept should be able to survive in today's climate. No business that inept deserves to survive. Closing at lunchtime? Cash only payments? You're not a fucking Bring & Buy stall! Fuck off and die. But first, bring my my godammed mugs!

This child will be the bloody death of me. She still has this weird bed-phobia, has been very difficult to get down to sleep at bedtime, up at the crack of dawn, and then refuses point blank to nap despite being visibly knackered for the last few days. After a hissy fit at Playgym, she passed out in her pushchair on the way home today for about 10 mins. I tried to carry her up to bed straight away. She woke up and screamed the house down. that was two hours ago. the proper attempt at nap time started an hour ago and she's still clonking about in her room, talking to her toys and pretending to play the trumpet. But every time I go upstairs she's suddenly, miraculously lying in bed. She keeps asking me to lie with her but I'm not getting into that habit of her needing one of us with her to fall asleep again.

She is a monkey.

may have to give up on naptime yet again in a bit, although she's then absolutely guaranteed to fall asleep in her pushchair this afternoon, only to wake up the moment we're in.

EDIT - everything went quiet just as I was about to submit defeat and get her up. Let her doze for an hour then woke her, causing an HOUR LONG tantrum. *Sigh*

OK, now why the Hell has Vi suddenly decided that she hates her bed? At what was supposed to be nap time today I came upstairs to check on her and found her lying, half asleep, on the floor next to her book box. All attempts to get her back into bed were met with horrified screams. I thought it might just be that she didn't want to nap today, but now that it's bedtime she keeps crying and leaping out as if it's a hot potato. All that's different is that I've changed the sheets, which I do every week.

*Sigh* It's been a long day.

Family Situation that reared its head on Sunday has worsened. After all the trouble trying to get people to talk out their problems like grown-ups, they have now apparently gone back to passing messages of demands, counter-demands, threats and counter-threats back and forth via my poor mother like FUCKING TEENAGERS.

I can definitely see relations going right back to the horrible, hostile, stressful ways they were when Dad died, and it's all over absolutely fucking NOTHING.

So pissed off right now. Pissed off and worried and dreading the years of stress ahead.

Not even F-Locking this bad boy. I'm wearing my anger on my sleeve right now.

So, my recent Tweets might have given youse kids an idea as to why I haven't been around much this week... FYI if anybody's contemplating catching severe Gastroenteritis while 27 weeks with child, I can heartily recommend that you don't. Here's a fun fact-ette that my Doctor let me in on - when you're preggers, not only can you take NOTHING for any ailment you have, but also your natural defences automatically make protecting the foetus top priority - good news for rerun, not so good news for me. I just had to spend three days in bed trying - largely in vain - to keep fluids down and wondering if my barely existant immune system was ever going to fight off whatever it was that had turned my insides into an angry cement mixer. Oh - also, having a uterus that already stretches up to the bottom of your ribcage and has stretched and squished your guts as if they were in a funhouse mirror doesn't exactly make matters any more comfortable when you're trying desperately to keep half a pint of apple juice down.

Since I seem to have succeeded in keeping a moderate breakfast inside today and no longer have horrible stomach ache I am being cautiously optimistic about today... although I was cautiously optimistic about yesterday too, before I frustratingly nosedived back into shaky-sicky-cant-get-out-of-bed in the early evening.

Still feel very dizzy, very weak and not enthusiastic about eating. Don't expect any epic odes or charity funruns out of my any time soon.

It has been, all in all, a pretty shit week.

*Sigh*

Today has been SUCH a Thursday. Arthur Dent would be proud. And it's not necessarily over despite Vi having gone to bed some time ago. She's already woken up, very upset, with a pooey bum once tonight.

I have done a lot of laundry. I am very tired. Vi has pretty much put herself on nil by mouth since this morning, bar half a piece of pitta and a few slurps of very diluted juice. I can tell that she's thirsty, but I think she's too frightened of throwing up again to drink anything now. I hate it when she's ill so very much - she's usually such a cheerful little girl, it's horrible to see her so miserable.

A few things have made me smile today, though. One was 'OMFG Magazine' (*points to earlier post*) and the other is the preview of the Family Guy TNG episode as posted by Mrs P and little Willy Wheaton, and as seen here. If any TNG fans haven't seen it yet, I advise that you do. It's brilliant. 'I'll have a hamburger. No! A cheeseburger. And a...' 'YOU'LL HAVE NOTHING AND YOU'LL LIKE IT!!!'

Ugh. Was tired and stressed by the time I went to bed anyway last night. The Parade Of Twats at God-Knows-What -Time in the night really didn't help - it was like an unending river of honking, braying, bawling, drunken fucks. Went on for about half an hour, and I slept very oddly after that. Then Violet was sick, at about 6.30 in the morning, so I spent a lot of the early morning cleaning that up. Decided to take her to playgroup for a bit to stop her just moping in front of the telly, but that was, of course, when whatever's upset her tummy went from being vacated from the front end to coming out of the back. Spent the majority of playgroup changing her nappy. She then passed out in the pushchair. She's in bed now, hopefully she'll have a nice, long doze and wake up feeling better. Nothing else we need to do today, thankfully, and I've bought a new desk fan in the hope of the white noise drowning out any more 2am crocodiles of fuckwits.

Oh, and we got rained on, too.

Not a great day, so far.

Due to lots of little jobs that needed to be done last night, plus various interruptions, we only managed to watch Monday's Stewart Lee last night and didn't get round to Charlie Brooker's new show. However, this clip gives me the feeling that it's going to be well worth catching up on.



I'm starting to wonder whether young Charlton might actually be the Second Coming. He's always right. ALWAYS!

Vi *still* not her old self, 24 hours after getting home. Only wants to eat dry, plain carbs (dry Rice Krispies for brekkie, a plain toasted pitta for lunch) and still very reluctant to drink anything, which is the main worry for me. She *has* had a couple of good drinks today, but still much less than she usually drinks and still goes through long phases of bursting into tears if I even offer her her cup. She's much sleepier than usual, but I don't know whether it's that she's sleepy so she won't eat or drink properly, or that her starving/dehydrating herself is making her drowzy. Poot.

Stressed. Always get very stressed out when Vi's ill, and worrying that this is going to start happening every time we go away. Can't concentrate to write, which is annoying, and I don't want to take her out this afternoon if she's poorly.

Any attempts to cheer poor FretfulMother!Scriblet would be much 'preciated. So far the only thing that's distracted me suitably today has been another of Peter Sarah-fanny-wedge's Twitter Games (today: Tired Actors. Didn't get retweeted, but I was still pleased with my offers of Kevin Achin', Gerard Deparduvet, Ovaltine Newton John and Matt LeBlanket.)

ADDENDUM - She has just wandered in from the front room, grabbed her cup and taken it back in with her. Possible good sign.

Massive pool of doggy diahorrea on the doorstep when returning from Playgroup this morning. Massive. Seriously, if your dog's got the shits that's a pity for you, but don't let them lay down a puddle of poop soup in a stranger's FREAKING DOORWAY! Good Lord, every day in every way I lose a little more faith in the ability of my fellow humans to have any semblence of thought or respect for others. As I mentioned on Twitter, I can at least take consolation that if the owners' doggy's got the runs, the poor mutt's probably sprayed their own house with shit already. Because at this moment in time I just want to seize control of government and bring in new laws that anybody caught not picking up after their pet will be tracked, followed home and have a tonne of slurry flung at their windows at three in the morning.

Right. Laundry, then bathroom cleaning, then washing up, then a few minutes of writing if I get time. A housewife's life is a glamourous one.

Ah-la-la, Playgym during half term. Stacked to the rafters and loads of kids that were really too old for it pegging around snatching toys and pushing the toddlers over. Again. And, again, I heard an F-Word from one of the likkle angels. BLESS. Also; a particularly large number of babies and toddlers with earrings. Nice.

I should be writing... actually no, I should be doing the washing up and then writing, but I'm still over-awed by my shiny, shiny new Twitter. Have learned it's a mistake to spend a couple of free minutes glancing through The Spine's back catalogue of Tweets as 15 minutes later I was still giggling at his horror at having to buy anti-snoring nasal strips in Large, his mild annoyance that the woman who usually stalks him at cons and asks him to sign her breasts not turning up to the last one he did ('maybe she won't have her breasts signed on the Sabbath'), his various deliberate misspellings of Wil Wheaton's name (my favourite was 'Wiiiiiiiiiil', which was, apparently, pronounced in the same manner as 'Khaaaaaaaan') and his musings on LaVar Burton's travels ('Maybe he wanted to buy some midwestern cheese'). Ah, The Spine. Less a Virtual Comedy Uncle (that position has been permanently filled by Sir Stephen of Fry), more a Virtual Housemate's Dad Who Turns Up To Help Her Move In And Then Embarrasses Her by Telling Lots Of Jokes To Her Friends.

Washing up. Definitely, definitely washing up.

Maybe.

Once upon a time there was a terrestrial TV channel called Channel 4, which bought the syndication rights to an interesting, aesthetically-pleasing weirdy-poo sort-of Sci-Fi show called Lost. It was one of those dramas with an ongoing story arc which relied heavily on unanswered mysteries and cliffhangers - the sort of thing that young Scribbles enjoys. The sort of thing that young Scribbles could easily get hooked on, and hooked she got. But then one day an evil Right Wing tyrant called Rupert Murdoch came and outbid Four for Lost, two series into its six series run. 'Oh well,' said Four, 'we'll just carry on making bollocks reality shows and programmes about moving house, and nobody will notice.'

But Scribbles liked the art of storytelling, and Scribbles preferred to know the resolution of a story she had invested two seasons in, but Scribbles could not, would not get Sky. So Scribbles turned to her old friend the internet. First there was Naughty Pirating, but then the Naughty Pirates turned into Spineless Snitches and started giving out the IPs of their downloaders to big bastard companies, and Scribbles' husband said that they should trust the pirates no more. Then Scribbles discovered that she could purchase Lost from iTunes, which, gleefully, she did.

But then the day came when the first episodes of the new series were up on iTunes, and Scribbles tried to purchase.
'But no,' said iTunes, 'for no reason you cannot buy this unless you have the brand new, shiny version of iTunes.'
'All right then,' said Scribbles, 'please may I have the brand new, shiny version of iTunes?'
'No,' said iTunes, 'for your Mac is now obsolete! Mwah ha ha!!!'
'How can you be obsolete?' asked Scribbles to her Mac. 'You're, what, six years old - seven, max? If you were a person you'd only be at Primary school. How is that obsolete?'
'Ah,' said the Mac, 'but you are forgetting, I was made by Apple, and everything made by Apple, no matter how expensive, is apparently as disposable as a Bic Biro. Did you learn nothing from the saga of the knackered iPod Mini? Too bad, baby. No South Pacific-set wibbley-wobbley-timey-wimey hijinks for you!'
'But Mac,' cried Scribbles, 'I thought you were cool! You were personified by weird-eyed David Mitchell in them adverts, and I like him.'
'No,' replied the Mac with an air of Maclike smugness, 'David Mitchell played the PC. I was personified by Robert Webb - the one you have an irrational dislike of.'
'But how does that work?' Scribbles enquired. 'Surely Apple, the comissioners of the ads, should have been aware that David Mitchell is the one that's actually cooler, and Robert Webb comes across as too self-aware and trying too hard, like a bit of a nob?'
'Look,' replied the Mac, 'it's just an advert, all right? I don't know why we're having this discussion anyway, I'm only a machine. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to spend the next ten minutes not being able to get any internet connection for no reason until you switch everything off and on again, like I do every evening.'
'Fair enough', Scribbles replied.

In short, I can't get S5 of Lost until Hubs finally gets round to hooking New Mac upstairs up to the intertubes, which will be next week at the earliest, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask for further Radio Silence on the old spoileroonies, oh FList of mine.

This has actually been the least of my woes today, what with a very broken night's sleep coupled with a cold leaving me utterly exhausted, and having to deal with a toddler who not only is still not keen on her new bed but also shares my cold and cut the first of her back molars today ("Grumpy" is not the word for it) and whatnot.

Still, I have done some writing. Unfortunately though, even though I should be working on either the Thrilling Conclusion to the New Adventures or the next installment of Rollercoaster, I have instead been writing the first chapter of the conclusion/sequel to Rollercoaster, which I'm miles and miles away from, plotwise. It's mainly because I've recently decided how I'm going to end it, and how I'm going to fit it around a certain incident at the end of the canon, and the bunnies were gnawing away. Hopefully the first chapter will sate them for now, and it does mean that I now have not one but two future points to work towards, since I started the story off with a future flash to the end of First Contact and have since then been working to wards that - now I have an end point to head for once I'm past old Borgybitch.


What a long entry! Clearly, I needed to vent. Carry on!

The Angry Rain God (let's call him Nigel) decided to spew forth a torrent of freezing rain upon me all morning. The ducks were having a whale of a time, since all of a sudden their river had spread nicely to encompass much of the riverbank and rather a lot of Sainsbury's car park, allowing them to paddle about a whole new watery world like a bunch of little ducky Columbuses (Columbi...?) Me - not so much. I got very wet and very cold. Add to that the fact that Vi has a streaming cold and I think I'm starting to come down with it too, so I wasn't in the greatest of moods this morning.

Then along came Pushy Playgym Mum - the 'get your baby out of the way' one that I had a run-in with last year, who made me quite literally CAPSLOCK WITH RAGE. In fact, that was the only way that I could rationalise my feelings in my own mind. Those specific words - capslock with rage. I think I may spend too much time on the intartubes. Anyhoo, she introduced herself to me with the line 'My daughter's having a go on that car after your daughter is, yeah? Because they're for everybody to share, not just for one or two kids to keep hold of all the time' without apparently noticing a, the paradoxical nature of her statement or b, the fact that I was already trying to cajole Vi out of the car she was playing with since I was aware she'd been on it a while and other kids were waiting. In retrospect it might have been a passive-aggressive swipe at one of the mums of the other kids in the cars, since I'd noticed her kid get into some fisticuffs over another car shortly before, but that's beside the point. There's no way that I was going to stop other children besides her kid getting in it after Vi, so I assumed the only point of her speech was, in essence, 'get your baby out of the way'. All it did was royally put my back up and stress me out, since Vi was still ignoring my suggestions that she play elsewhere and now I had this ugly bitch breathing down my neck. In the end I pulled Violet out of the car - she'd been in it for her fair share anyway, but I wanted to get the Hell away from that woman. And then Pushy Mum was all 'Oh, you don't have to get her out of it *now*!' I told her curtly that Vi had been in it for ages, but that wasn't the point. The point was that now, her kid had run off to play with something else. As I walked away, she physically had hold of the car and was refusing to let any toddlers play with it as she tried to attract her kid's attention. i later caught her taking a badminton raquet off a little girl. Bitch. CAPSLOCK BITCH.

Anyway. It's stopped raining now, and it's Saturday tomorrow. I am still(!) doing my character plotting notes for the last New Adventure - Done all of The Seven now and it's already over 4 pages long. Just Venger and pretty much every guest character that's been in the New Adventures left, then. Oy, this is massive. Have also been writing a teensy bit of the ending to Rollercoaster... not that I'm anywhere near the end yet, I've just been thinking a lot about how I'm going to end it lately, and the bunnies need a carrot.

Had epic dreams last night - one involved a big Sleb networking function where I successfully pitched The Specials but when the guy who wanted to read the script gave me his number I couldn't get my phone to store it. Then I had another dream where I wrote about the first dream on LJ. I really am spending too much time on the internet, aren't I?

Yesterday was a very, very Thursdayish sort of a Thursday. Allow me to share my pain with you in list format:

1, Began the day imitating a mid-90s pop song by being rudely awakened by the dustmen, at about 7am. There should really be a law against noisily collecting rubbish before the hours of daylight.

2, Awoke with a vague, annoying headache that stayed with me all day.

3, Remained exhausted all day, for no real reason.

4, Got a phone call at 5.30 (when hubs is usually home) saying he was caught in traffic and would probably be another 45 minutes.

5, 45 minutes later, at 6.15, hubs was very much not home.

6, Was starting to worry by quarter to 7. When hubs finally got in at ten to, I was utterly knackered and randomly furious without actually having anything to vent it on.

7, attempted to make cakes for the party tomorrow once Vi had gone to bed. My hand mixer decided to break half way through doing the cake mix. Planned on buying a new mixer today and doing the icing tonight but hubs declared the mixer fixed, so I attempted the icing. Mixer gave up after approximately half a second of mixing, but since I already had all the ingredients in the bowl I had to carry on. Ended up making the icing by hand - a lot of stirring. The icing may be slightly lumpy tomorrow :(

8, That done, Hubs and I spent 5 minutes turning over the living room to find the TV remote only to find it in the place it always was, only covered with a book. Perfect.

Today is being much more Fridayish, however. Violet has come out with several new sayings today ('Hello', as well as 'very very hot' and 'very very cold') and my Ma and Sis are down tonight.

Plus - don't faint - I've been working on Zombie Dad and it's very nearly finished!

Oh, plus a big weight has been lifted from all of our minds yesterday. I haven't felt comfortable blogging about it (and still don't) since it involved legal shenanigans, but one of my extended family has been going through a really horrible time of it recently but yesterday found out that (legally, it least) it wasn't going any further. I had been very worried about her, and she'd obviously been finding it very upsetting. But it's done with now.

Red Herring does a nice little Maternity range. Of course, the Debenhams in Canterbury waited until a few months after I'd had Vi to open up their Maternity Dept. Still, last time I was in there, the little corner of nice stretchy jeans and long tops was still there, so I asked for Debenhams vouchers as part of my Christmas wish list. I got a Debenhams gift card off my SiL, and since the maternity jeans in Dotty P's were a bit uninspiring, had a saunter over there today.

Guess what they've just stopped doing?

RAAAAAAHHHH!!! They must have a fucking radar or something! Hang on lads, Scribbles is up the duff again. Better shut down the little maternity corner, lest we get a fucking customer.

What's the betting it'll be open again by next autumn?

I hate them.

Was woken up at about quarter to three this morning by the sound of smashing glass, really, really nearby. Thought it was our front window. Hubs looked out just in time to see some bloke pegging it down the street, then went and checked downstairs. Luckily, it wasn't our window, but unfortunately, it was our nice neighbours next door (the ones who'd been broken into before), who were out. Hubs tried calling them, but since it was 3am, there was no answer, then rang the police. By the time they turned up some idiot drunk student had passed by, gone 'oooh, what's that?' and decided to touch the broken window. She'd managed not to cut herself but was now concerned that her fingerprints were on it. When hubs went out to talk to the Rozzers she was attempting to give them her details, even though she was so pissed she couldn't remember her phone number or house number. Was quite impressed that the police took it on themselves to temporarily secure the window pretty much there and then (I didn't know it was them that always did that) but not so impressed when either they or whoever it was they'd called to do it were chatting away as they worked as if they weren't in a residential street at 4 in the morning. Took me ages to get back to sleep because I was so jumpy.

Seriously, since we moved here 2 and a half years ago:
Our car windscreen has been smashed twice
Our car's been walked over once
Our back windscreen wiper's been ripped off
Our wing mirrors have been ripped off countless times
We've given up leaving the bin out any day but bin day because it was forever being tipped over
Our door's been kicked or fallen against several times
So many 'hilarious' games of knock-a-door-run in the middle of the night - so much so that even in the early evening if we're not expecting anyone we won't even bother going to the door to see if anyone's there unless they knock twice
Two neighbours have had their windows smashed.

We don't want to move, because it *is* a nice house, cheap and just the right size, plus moving is a stress. But seriously, the vandalism's getting ridiculous. We really need CCTV on our street but I doubt we'd ever get it, no matter how much we complain. Not least because our Council lost all their money out of Icelandic banks. Even if these people are caught, as the ones who smashed the hairdresser's window when we lived in the old flat were, all they get is a tiny fine - not even enough to cover the re-glazing costs. How is that going to put anyone off? Nah, charge the cunts a couple of grand at the least, or a month cleaning the streets at four in the morning or something. Bastards.

Gah! Well, it may be a good thing that we didn't attempt to go to Norfolk or to the Bonfire this weekend, because when Hubs tried to go and check the tyre pressure on the car it wouldn't start. The battery had magically flattened itself. The RAC man's been round and seems to have fixed it but late this afternoon was a little bit stressy. We ran out of time to do the hoovering. Madness!

Bought teeny-tiny little hairbands today and attempted to put Vi's hair in bunches - it didn't really work, there's still not enough of it. But it did look mightily cute for the three seconds they stayed in. She's been channelling her Inner Spike Thomson today and wearing her sunglasses indoors, in the dark. Plus she did a proper jigsaw all by herself today. And she can sort-of say her name. It sounds more like jho-jhot at the moment though - she still can't say V or L properly. She prefers to refer to herself as 'Baby Girl' at the moment anyway, which is adorable.

Haven't had any complaints from the Mail yet. The Queen Mum's ghost rides a pig through Uxminster every night, drinking Sunny Delight from a novice nun's cleavage and singing 'Cockles & Mussels' in the style of Sid Vicious.

I am poorlysick, mes amis. The cold I've spent the last few days fighting off made an aggressive final push into no man's land and has now invaded Paris. Or something. Long story short, my throat's swollen up, my sinuses feel like they're full of silly putty and everything smells of snot. I am drinking my weight in hot Vimto. Woe is me. Plus, Hubs is off galavanting at a screening in Smokey tomorrow, so I've got to get Vi dinnered, bathed and bedded on my tod tomorrow night. Everything's pissing my off a ridiculous amount today. The stupid lyrics to "Blue Velvet" made me needlessly apoplectic with rage just now. "And I still can see blue velvet in my tears"?!? WHAT?!?

On the plus side, however, Violet can now do the proper dance to 'Dingle Dangle Scarecrow', which is very sweet. She does tend to skip 'shake my hands like this', though, because she's much too eager to 'stamp her feet like that'. Plus, she was sort-of doing 'Head, shoulders, knees & toes' today, only they were all sort-of in the wrong order.

It's Friday night... it's time for copious amounts of vomit!!!

Vi was really, really sick at half five (*just* as I started putting dinner on!) and hasn't really stopped yet. We haven't been able to keep anything down her, not even water. I *think* she's run out of stuff to be sick with now, and has fallen asleep. Fully expecting more vomming or a very awake, very hungry/thirsty babe at any point of the evening or night now.

Hope she's OK, bless her. I've never known her to be this sick before :(

I have had a weird and knackering day. It started off nicely enough with muesli and a couple of nice reviews for Rollercoaster, but within an hour of that, I'd had a call that the landlord's son was going to start redecorating the outside of the house today (not *entirely* out of the blue, I was expecting a call last week, but that he was already on his way when he called wasn't exactly great notice) and then next door's burglar alarm went off. I know that they're away and that they got broken into a few months back (hence me knowing what their alarm sounds like) so I phoned the police who couldn't have sounded less interested and actually made me feel bad, like I was wasting their time. I phoned next-door's son after that, and half an hour or so after the alarm had stopped, checked out their house at that front & back and nothing was smashed or opened. Weird.

I've generally been really knackered all day, the paint fumes haven't helped, nor has the general sense of nervousness that this morning brought. Hubs offered to get a takeaway tonight, and like an idiot I turned it down and said I'd cook instead. I have bought myself a Galaxy Hot Chocolate for tonight with about a million calories, though. Yum.

So a friend of my husband's that I bumped into at playgym last week told me about a toddler's group at a church not far from me. I'm a bit nervous about joining a church-run group because of the whole Atheism Thing, but she recommended it, so I checked out the website - it was due to run today at 9.30. Well, it takes a bit of effort to get us both ready and out quite that early, but I did it, in the rain, and walked the 20 mins or so to the church... which was, of course, deserted and locked. Found a way into a reception eventually, and asked if the playgroup was on. A needlessly huffy receptionist told me no, it was starting next week. I told her the website said today. Nothing to do with her, she told me. I sighed, actually furious, but determined not to take it out on her and said something like 'oh well, we got wet for nothing then, thanks anyway', because, dammit, I had gone to loads of effort and turned up, drenched, for an event that her organisation's website had advertised as being on but clearly wasn't and I wasn't even getting a smidgen of sympathy or apology from her, which I thought was really off, and she was all 'well, you're just going to have to take it up with the people who run the group, because it's nothing to do with me'.

I was already in a foul mood, but that took the biscuit. 10am and I'm soaked and fuming already. *sigh*