Have had a good morning's golf today - my putting was shit-hot and I was getting the balls in when really I shouldn't have been. As it were. I was particularly proud of my long putt on the ninth which rattled in as if it was always meant to be and gave me a par. Ha! It makes it all worthwhile, you know.

Back home, the letter from the specialist has come, confirming what I already know, and asking my own doctor to refer me to the Royal Surrey. However, I was rather brightened by the fact that she doesn't think my non-standard cyst is likely to be "of any sinister pathology" (a turn of phrase I can only admire), so it will be interesting to see what they do think the bugger is. Once they've had a chance to have a good look at it of course. My bet is on my old school tie still. But at least it looks more hopeful now, thank the Lord. Talking of which, here's a poem I wrote yesterday when I was staring in the mirror and wondering which toothpaste to use, and which is very tongue-in-cheek - honest!

The cautious optimism of teeth

The medical profession
might be frowning
over the state
of my ovaries

but I continue to floss,
confident
that at the very least
I’ll die smiling.

In preparation for my holiday, I've also had a haircut and now look utterly amazing - Lynda is such a genius really. Shame it'll all fall apart when I wash my own hair tomorrow - as ever. For now I am attempting to keep my head as still as possible so Lord H can be wowed by the state of his wife when he comes home. As always, of course.

I have also been regretting the fact that I haven't been taking my Vitamin B depression pills - I must remember that just because I'm feeling okay doesn't mean to say I shouldn't take them! Why don't I ever learn that?? Groan. Anyway, I was cast into a fit of weeping this afternoon when I realised that the shit-hot short story that I think is one of the best and most literary I've ever written got precisely nowhere in a competition I just found out about today. Yes, yes, I know - this is normal and I shouldn't be making a song and dance about it, but quite honestly I felt truly gutted. Sometimes it feels as if you try and try sooooo bloody hard, you edit until your hair falls out, and you can't make what you've written any better - and still it's not bloody good enough. Really, writing can be the most soul-destroying job in the world sometimes. It's the only thing that can make you feel a complete failure within seconds. No matter how good past stuff has been. Sigh. Anyway, I managed to drag myself to the kitchen and take a Vitamin B pill, plus a De-Stress pill. Plus the last slice of chocolate orange cake. The combination seems to have helped a little, thank God ... But I'm still feeling fragile. A situation not helped by the fact that I think I'm coming down with another cold, bugger it. So I've taken a couple of Echinacea pills too. Hell, shake me and I'll rattle.

In the midst of all that, I've flung myself, gibbering like a loon, into Simon and Annyeke's story and now have c22,500 words ofHallsfoot's Battle under my belt. And that's where it'll stand for now, I think. Because I really do need to go and pack. And have some kind of a normal bloody life, ho ho.

And finally, the very enthusiastic and also delightful people at theCompletely Novel website are celebrating their launch in October with a short story competition. Though, bearing in mind my last experience with short stories, I suspect I'll be happier if I don't enter. I have enough on my plate really. But still, it could be worth a look!

So, I hope you all have a lovely week and I'll catch up with you when I'm back on Friday!

Today's nice things:

1. Golf
2. Haircut
3. Writing
4. Holiday.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website