Poorly heeled luxury

Today is a day of fine plans, starting with not going to work. Today, my attendance at the grey cavern of air con will be replaced by a long massage at Browns hotel spa, followed by afternoon tea with two old fiends (one of whom is more preggers than I am and due to pop in a couple of weeks!)

But, urg! Have been awake since crazy o'clock, feeling queasy and covered in kitten puncture wounds from a night of obsessive spiky kneading. Those torties will be the death of me. I dread to think what the masseur will make of my full-body kitten wounds.

Recently I've started to get travel sickness again... and morning quease. I think it's probably related to the sensation of wearing tight, lung-restricting clothing that I can't take off, coupled with digestive cloggage and something wriggling around independently inside my belly. (C'est la vie, literally!)

Anyway... never mind that. Massage! Afternoon tea! Yippee!

I suppose I'd better take some socially acceptable footwear in my handbag. I've been wearing my 'fuggs' non-stop for the last 6 months and fear the idea of returning to killer heelage. (But I don't suppose battered fuggs are quite the thing in a Mayfair hotel tea room). Oh the trials of life ;-)

I hope you all have equally pleasing Fridays lined up.

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