Hestia....and Dr Internet

yeah, only search for DIAGRAMS, missy...

So it took me MONTHS to pluck up the courage to go to the doctors to see about the mystery bump on my boob.  After some careful prodding, the doctor told me that it was nothing to worry about and was actually called a senile something or other.  I pretty much tuned out after the word 'senile' to tell you the truth.

You would think, therefore, that when an intermittent nagging pain blossomed again in my side, that I would waste no time, I would be straight up the surgery to have my concerns laid to rest.

Hestia.....and the Ginger Fudge

Billy Bunter - cake expert

My mum gave me her Ginger Fudge recipe which I shared with you, dear reader, here.

I decided that it was time to give it a bash and so today I set to work - turning two packets of ginger nuts into a fine powder in the food processor and heating through the condensed milk, the sugar and the butter.

And that's it.

What could go wrong?

Hestia is.....no laughing matter

The long-suffering reader here at Hestia Towers might know that I am quite keen on Tarot.  Once a month I go up to Glasgow and provide a 2-hour workshop for people who want to develop their skills.

Last weekend was one such workshop and we were looking at spreads - everything from the value of single card readings right through to a big 36-card spread.

I spend ages writing the hand-outs, packing in as much as I can into the 2 hours with lots of practical excercises for the attendees to experiment with.  I even stand in my bedroom and deliver them to the wall so that I can work out my timings so that I manage to get through the entire worksheet. Oh yes, I CAN work quite hard when the mood takes me.

So at the workshop, one lady, who is a regular, is sitting in front of me while I deliver some lines.  I pause, allowing the team to start getting their decks organised for the first exercise.

Hestia....worries

It's not the taking of pills that worries me.

 Nor even having to take them in such quantity that it warrants a neatly divvied up wee box.

 Without a word of exaggeration (or even a vowel of exaggeration), Not My Boyfriend Ron asked Juno whether she wanted her tablets from the compartment marked 'Deb, Eve, Zooz or Nrom'.

 I think that she was so dumbfounded by his clattering lack of insight into how you hold the package to read it that she failed to reply entirely.

 I myself was left gawping like a goldfish.

 He drives a car....so be afraid, VERY afraid.