WARNING: Contains Material Some May Squirm At

Hello Bloggeristas,

Hope all is well where e'r you may be. I have had a stressful week and wanted to get some of it off my ever diminishing chest (daren't even get the 'boys' measured as I fear they are smaller than my friend Sarah's - she is preggers though so maybe she is not really the one I should be comparing with). Let's just say I bought a child's bikini today from Ross - bargain at $3.50 plus 8.24% tax (which always gets me, still after living here two years, and visiting for at least 15 years).

Stress has reared it's ugly head in various ways, mostly to do with cash, which is ironic because one of the reasons that I came here to was dispel all previous beliefs that money means happiness. Well, lack of money surely does mean unhappiness, and it is due to being paid late on my wages and also a series of car malfunctions that I have got myself into a bit of a mess with the old finances.

I started my new job three months ago - which meant I had to purchase a car from my Step Dad, the one he'd so kindly provided me when I worked for him. Bargain price, but the 'check engine' light was illuminated, and had been for the 18 months prior to me buying it. It is a 2001 Jetta VW, which in this country means due it's 1st smog, which is an emissions test, but like the MOT in the UK, but not as rigid. It will not pass if any of the warning lights are on, so I got it checked out. Oh, only needed a new catalytic converter - $1200 thank you very much. So paid that, got the smog certificate, Bob's your Uncle. All registered/taxed and ready to roll. Except for a little flat, slow puncture I thought. Hummm just a $200 repair job on busted rim which is aluminium and basically as useful as a chocolate frying pan. Better than forking out $350 for a new rim right?

With all that paid for and also the realisation I have to put in a full tank of petrol every other day ($35 - $42) because I drive a lot of miles for work, I was a bit stressed out. Feeling very lucky that this was the last bill I would have regarding the car (she is called Joy by the way - Oh Fucking Joy as she gets most of the time), I cruised up Highway 1 - the scenic route from my fam's house in the Santa Cruz Mountains, one morning; I was minding my own, well, was on the cell to my bloke, when who did I spot hiding under the 40 MPH sign? Yeah C.H.I.P.S. Now to all those folks who saw this show when they were a child will probably empathise me when I say I cannot help but laugh at the usually height challenged cop, on a BMW wearing Ray Ban Wayfarers, with his beige nylon pants riding right up his sack (sorry Gran). Yeah they are funny, and yeah they all love an English accent, and he did note I had the same fashion sense when it comes to sunglasses; but not on this day. My spat of bad luck with Joy came to a crescendo when I got a speeding ticket - I was doing 64 in a 40 - but I was coming out of a 55 zone. Now I am usually one to argue, but this C.H.I.P's guy seemed to be fully loaded with Mace, a semi automatic piece and some fancy stun gun, so I held back the laughter and gave it the sorry Sir, I won't do it again Constable (well, not quite but you get my drift). So, I just got the bill for this today, $275 plus $30 traffic school - which is some rode safety course led by a man in a clown costume who hands out pizza at , lunch time (honest). The purpose of this jovial day of teaching or supposed to stop your insurance rising next year, which sounds great to me, but I think I will opt for online traffic school, a lot less funny and may actually teach me a lesson. It is I admit about time I got done for speeding - Being the whirlwind that I am.

So now the squirmy bit. I have to go for surgery as the Yanks put it - An operation to you Brits. On Thursday please think of me while you are sat watching East Enders eating Shepherd's Pie and peas. I am going for the old Farmer Giles, piles, (haemorrhoids) cutting and frying off. So it is farewell to old Percy, and Paul and the seven other bad boys who have been residing up the old whatsit for forever. I have had them injected before but they came back, so now the scalpel is getting weilded about. I am not too bothered about some random Doctor prodding about, it is the Fleet enema I have to give myself two hours before which is freaking me out a bit, in fact inducing nightmares such as being trapped on Alcatraz. Plus the fact I will not be able to have a cigarette to calm me down. Nothing to do with the hospital rules of course; I have actually been smoke free for two weeks and a day. I am very proud of this factor, but that is a whole other blog.

I am also very disappointed because Morrissey is playing 4 gigs at my favourite San Francisco venue The Fillmore that week, and I have two tickets for the Editors I am trying to flog for that date (any takers?). So not allowed to jump about really and apparently cannot drive for a bit - cut down on the gas I suppose, and the potential for getting another ticket.

OK better get to bed - early start for the multi family garage sales in San Carlos tomorrow. I should look out for either a child's inflatable swimming ring, or one of those things you pop round your neck when flying - may come in handy for Thursday post op! Have a lovely weekend...

PS upon rereading this I saw a really bad wrong spelling and cannot find it now - v late and I need bed ;-)