Home again.

Whilst on holiday in the west of Ireland last week, I consumed many crab sandwiches and crab salads; so many in fact that we both remarked on how I don't normally enjoy crab so much and isn't it nice to eat so much crab while we are on holiday (and with Irish food being so, um, basic, it was nice to find something fresh and delicious among the menus laden with chicken nuggets and "panini"). So yeah, while I don't wish to insult anyone - and good Irish cooking dominates the taste memories of my childhood, so I know it exists - it wasn't easy to find nice food there. So, crab to the rescue.

Also, I've been seeing a herbalist for my sluggish thyroid, and she recommended eating shellfish, so as I gorged myself, I thought, Good for me. I must eat more shellfish when I get home. It is so delicious and nourishing. It is massaging my tired glands.

And throughout that week I continued to think, though I am really enjoying all this unusually hot and relentless sunshine, it isn't half making my face itch. Wow. My face is really freaking itchy. Then I woke up with my face twice its normal size and itching like a mothercracker and remembered that the same thing happened after my last prawn and scallop binge, upon which I "gave up" shellfish for fear of anaphylactic shock. Oh yeah. I completely forgot about that.

So, now I am slightly confused about what the bad news is. Is it that I can't have shellfish anymore in case I tip this mild sensitivity over into a proper life-threatening allergy? Or is it that I obviously have brain damage/neurological problems/early onset dementia and can't remember basic stuff about food that hurts me? Or is the bad news that I am now a hypochondriac?

I anticipated that the bad news would be that I had returned to London after an idyllic holiday, but in truth, I couldn't be happier to be home. I guess that's good news.

Two week forecast

Friday, travelling; mostly confined to England and Wales. Two people, two dogs, one car, approximately 45 pieces of luggage (for luggage read large Tesco carrier bags). The dogs don't pack very well. I think it's a lack-of-thumbs issue. It's hard for them to do up zips, stuff undies into shoes, etc..

Saturday promises ferries over the Irish Sea, likely to be punctuated with extended periods of barking from the vehicle hold. Yes, dogs are restricted to the car level, which is then locked and off-limits for the duration of the crossing. Crossing possibly marred by unbidden but persistent visions of ferry sinking and dogs drowning. I think the dogs' valium is the same as the human kind. So. You know.

Sunday will be mostly spent in a state of deep relaxation, with a chance of naps and dog walks at first, but there will be increasing incursions of Guinness and cakes later in the day. Strong overall likelihood of craic for the following 11 days, followed by falling spirits, thunderous anxiety and moody packing. Slight chance of light blog posting, but quite dry in most areas.