Postscript

I just read the leaflet that came with my medication.

Apparently it is "obtained from the urine of post-menopausal women."

Great. My girlfriend is injecting me with old women's piss. That is too kinky, even for me.

I've got you under my skin

Well it’s all very much back-to-school in September, innit? Books to write, weight to lose, and, yep, that other little project we’ve been working on for the past year or so.

So far - as most of you know - my body has been refusing to play nicely and thus it was that this week I found myself in a hospital basement learning how to inject myself in the stomach with a cocktail of drugs:

Human menopausal gonadotrophin
Follical stimulating hormone
Luteinising hormone
Lactose monohydrate
Polysorbate 20
Sodium hydroxide
Hydrochloric acid

God knows how they work but the idea is to make me pop out a decent number of eggs (thus increasing the likelihood of twins or triplets but there we go, moderation has never been my strong point).


When I say I was learning how to inject I am in fact lying. Actually, I can’t face it. So I take DJ S along. She is much braver than me, and as I point out to the nurse, good with her hands.

Lady V: My husband’s away in Italy on business so I’ve brought my friend instead. I’m scared of needles you see.
Nurse: Ah, lovely! That’s so kind. What a good friend. Will you be able to stay with her overnight, just in case there’s any side effects?
DJ S: Oh, ok then.

There follows a twenty minute demonstration of mixing vials, snapping ampoules, drawing liquids in and out of tubes, swapping needles, and the tap tap tap on the side of the little glass bottle to make sure there’s no air bubbles left inside. It’s all terribly English Patient.


I had thought the needle would be some sort of punchy thing like diabetics use, but no. It is a proper one and it ALL HAS TO GO IN.

Nurse: You have to approach at a 90 degree angle.
DJ S: Uh-huh.
Nurse: And don’t worry if you hit a vein, it’ll bleed but she won’t die.
Lady V: ?!?!
Nurse: Are you sure you want to do it in your stomach. You could do it in your thigh. Anywhere there’s a bit of, er…
Lady V (through gritted teeth): Fat?
DJ S: Snorts

Afterwards we sit in a coffee shop porking down pastries (am fat anyway, so who cares?)

Lady V: I’m guessing you didn’t bargain for this when you fancied a bit of slap and tickle on a Tuscan hillside. Soz.
DJ S: Raises an eyebrow.
Lady V: Stick with me baby, I’ll show you a good time…

Summer loving

Well. Gosh. Another summer at its end. Others before me have blogged more and blogged better, however, it would be bad form not to scribble down a little souvenir of what was, as ever, a fabulous 6 weeks on The Continent.

As you know, my memory is not what is was. But from what I can recall, for posterity's sake and because everyone loves a list, are some of the highlights. I took no photos so all featured here are thanks to the paparazzi.

Week 1: Milan/Sardinia

Tot A birthday celebrations in Milan: 1 (drunken. extensive)
Shopping trip for Tot C birthday outfit: 1 (swanky. thanks boys!)
Ferry trips to and from Sardinia: 2 (seventies lounge, spades, bouncy bouncy!)
Weddings attended: 1
Pan-African dance performance viewed: 1 (wincey wincey)
Midnight trips to Cagliari airport: 1 (hairpin bends. pukerama)
Belgian ex-mercenary/tobacco baron encountered: 1 (charming host, mildly woman-phobic)
Shamefaced uncovering of 36 year old flesh on beach: 3 (gravity has not been kind to this woman)
Obligatory birthday strop including tears/mourning lost youth and firmness of thighs: 1 (shortlived, banished by lunchtime mini-bottle)
First ever snorkelling experience with A: 1 (magical)
Shamefaced pushing of car out of sand on beach: 1 (errrr)
Consumption of seafood: excessive but delish

Sweating: profuse
Weight-gain: not-as-yet-thank-god


Week 2: Maremma

Ecstatic gambolling in Tuscan retreat: extensive
Grand planning for EP party: aiming high
Discussions over finding landrover/aeropane to plant in field: over-optimistic
Action re above: nil
Switching beds to provide self with room befitting 36 year old lady dowager: yay!
Design and construction of bedouin tent: masterful
Pick up of DJ from Grosseto station: intriguing
Discussions under the stars: entrancing
Lady V seduction technique: cheesy (Quattro Formaggi)
Pretence at resistance: disregarded
Romping on hillside: enthusiastic
Walk of shame over hillside: public
EP party: EPIC!
Hours spent in bed: 36
Interruptions: plenty
Flights changed: 1 (thanks Tot F!)
Dash to Rome: 1 (reeling slightly)
Dinner with tall Americans: 1 (drunken and delicious)

Sweating: profuse but, I feel, not unattractive
Weight gain: still ok (celebrity diet of sex and booze effective)




Week 3: Cote D'Azur

Gruelling dash along Cote D'Azur in baking heat with throbbing head: 1 (13 hours)
Jolly lunch in Antibes with 3 roguish old French sailors: 1 (they paid, I entertained)
Jolly afternoon drinks toute seule in Marseille: 3 (pastis, feeling no pain)
Lies told to sensible friends as to why I was a day late: many (far-fetched)
Lies believed by sensible friends: none
Delightful children ranging from 3 months - 7 years: 5
Hours spent dancing to Jump Little Bunnies Jump Jump Jump: 675
Hours drinking rose and reminiscing over university glory days: 789
Joy at finding rogue packet of Marlboro lights on top of fridge: unparallelled
Time spent to pork down the lot between us: 15 mins
Cheese consumed: EU mountains-worth

Sweating: garlicky
Weight gain: see cheese mountain ref above
Phone calls to DJ S: 367 minutes (roaming charges apply)


Week 4: Maremma

Ecstasy at being reunited with my Tot: infinite
Guilt at having abandoned the group: vast
Lunchtime prosecco: de rigeur
Adoration of Francesca: heart-bursting
Broody moments: at all times
Adoration of PDF's physique in and out of sarong: unparalleled
Paul and Molly: fabulous
Mankini moments: 2 more than was decent
Attempt to tape Tomasina into said mankini: 1 (an intimacy never to be repeated)
World-class cuisine: every meal (cannot claim responsibility)
Attempt at making pudding: 1 (failed)
Exercise: quick hike from car to shrine
Ladies' lunch with S & F at L'Ultima Spiaggia: 1 (perfection)
Bottles of beer consumed with S in sea discussing life, love and existence: can remember
Pre-festival panic attacks at 5.30 am: horrendous
Discussions re soft furnishings with French uber-homosexuals: hilarious
Compensatory fags smoked: 153 million
Four in a bed romp with F, J and Mom: 1 (rah!)

Sweating: with fear
Weight gain: comfort-eating took its toll
Phone calls to DJ S: many. soothing. exciting

Week 5: Edinburgh/Maremma/Brescia

Vomiting attacks: 3
Stages shared with famous writers for Amnesty reading: 1
Authors' hospitality yurt abused: 1 (extensively, post reading, free prosec with the Poet Laureate!)
Internationally acclaimed author performance: 1 (sold out,yeah!)


Book signing: 15 (yeah!)
Adrenalin rush: coursing through veins
Evening with publisher: alcoholic, on the house
Drunken outpourings of love and appreciation to above: 3 am, embarassing
Intoxicated photo shoot in posh Edinburgh gardens: 1


Naked photo shoot a few minutes later: unfortunate


Early morning dash of shame to airport: 1 (shaking lightly)
Texts of reassurance from editor: much appreciated
Midnight dash from Fiumicino to Maremma: 1 (thanks Uncle Luigi!)
Joyous welcome to bosom of Tots and Tom: 1 (bottle of wine, 10 fags)
Guilt at abandonment: profuse
Discovery of lake and delightful swim with K & S & Clementine: 1
Hot and bothered vineyard tour in Tuscan hills: 1
Cases purchased: 2 for the road
Afternoon dash up the peninsula: 1 (conversation delightful)
Weekend at Tot ancestral home picking out chaise longues for River St




Fags smoked with Mommy D: 697 million
Badger scratches to soothe my Tot: various

Sweating: extensive, from carrying furniture in midday sun
Weight gain: starting to show
Phone calls to DJ S: uh-huh

Week 6: Marseille

Trains from Milan to Nice: 1 (air-conditioning ferocious)
Trains from Nice to Marseille: 1 (air-conditioning non-existent)
Nudist beaches ogled: 1 (men only, bah)
New husbands encountered: 1 (charmant!)
Old friends catch up time: not enough
Boat trip around Les Calanques: 3 hours, beautiful
French spouted: fluent, at all times
Ladies' lunch in Aix en Provence: 1 (extensive, rose-ridden)
Hours spent in beauty salon impending hot date: 2 (painful)
Emotions at seeing flesh flop on waxing table in post-summer splurge: indescribable
Resurrection of spirits with well-judged bottle of rose: swift. (thanks girls!)
Late night son et lumiere around Marseilles: delightful


Hot date in Clerkenwell with DJ S.: aaahhhhhhh (thanks Sicily for the flat)
Another train trip to the Lakes for triple-fisting family christening: why? why?
Renouncement of evil as fairy godmother to Baby Daisy: because I had to
Bottles of wine consumed to block out the shame: 556






Sweating: not in the Lake District
Weight gain: oh god oh god oh god
Phone bill: oh god oh god oh god

So there it is. The summer is over. Thanks to all for making it, once again, a marvellous romperama of delight.

But no winter of discontent for me - au contraire!

Girlfriend found: 1
Lunatic grinning: extensive...