Somewhere in the UK there's a village that's missing its idiot

Actually, this country is filled with villages that are missing their idiots. They can find them by just going to Parliament-a place that is filled to the brim with village idiots. They call them MPs. What else can anyone say about Brexit-except that the Brits make fun (justifiably, in my view) of Trump, and I turn around and say that the words "pot, kettle and black" spring immediately to mind. So who's the bigger idiot?

I started February with Groundhog Day. Now, I'm talking the celebration, not the movie. Every February 2, the groundhog leaves its burrow and decides whether we will have an early spring or six more weeks of winter. It's a tradition leading back over a hundred years. I like it because it's a bit of fun, a celebration, a big party-unless you happen to be Punxatawney Phil, the groundhog in question.

I watched it this year. It really is a big celebration in Pennsylvania, and the world's press are out in force, as are hundreds of Americans who are looking for something less horrible than Trump, Brexit (I still say that Brexit sounds like a breakfast cereal), wars, terrorist attacks...it's a groundhog. You can't get more benign than a groundhog, can you? Or can you?

Standing on the stage were several old guys in tuxedos and top hats. They looked like undertakers.
They read from various "scrolls", made introductions, talked incessantly, and then went to get Phil, the world's most famous groundhog. I'm certain that the poor groundhog must have been sedated. If that had been me, I would have turned around, given him a good bite on the hand, and legged it out of there, doing my best to never be seen (or grabbed) again. But poor Phil was manhandled, squeezed firmly in the middle so he couldn't go anywhere, and finally placed on a table which contained two scrolls. He was too sedated to choose one, so one of the old guys did it for him, and announced that Phil had seen his shadow and we would have an early spring. Or maybe he didn't see his shadow and we will still have an early spring? By this time, poor zonked Phil had my sympathies. He didn't half looked pissed off, I can tell you.

It was winter in Pennsylvania, quite cold, and the poor little guy must have been freezing his bollocks off.  I hope they gave him plenty of treats to eat, because he will now have another year to recover.

Spare a kind thought for Punxatawney Phil and his bollocks.

I've had a February that got worse after I saw poor Phil being manhandled by a bunch of undertakers. I had another fall a few days afterwards: I was standing in the kitchen, minding my own business, and down I went, on my head-as usual. There was no blood (luckily) but plenty of pain. Just ask my head.
So I had to do nothing for a few days, until I got to see my physiotherapist, who performed the Epley maneuver and showed that I once again had BPPV. Annoying, really, that the crystals in my inner ear decided to take a holiday and go where they didn't belong.

I was told to do nothing for a week, wait until everything settled down-so February was one of those "do nothing and try not to keel over" months. And that was fine-until last week, when it happened again. Now I have a huge gash on my arm-luckily, no breaks, but plenty of blood. And my physio is on holiday, as is my neurologist. So, for the time being, I'm screwed.

So now it's March, and I'm trying hard to remain upright. I'm also trying hard to stay out of everyone's way, since, as you know, people are idiots and don't watch where they're going. I wonder sometimes if they give themselves points for every person on crutches they can knock over..,

Without my physio and my vestibular neurologist-who may or may not have me turned upside down in the chair I told you about some time ago-I'm starting to walk as much as possible again. And I had all my worldly belongings moved out of storage in East London to a storage facility that is much closer to where I'm living now. More stress. How adorable.

I decided over the weekend that I'm walking away from the unpaid job of tenants advocate. I did this for seven years, unofficially, got a lot of abuse and no thanks at all from the other tenants who live here. So why bother? As soon as I get this balance thing right -again- I'm going to start emptying out the storage unit. Charity shops will be thrilled, I think. Time to restructure my life, and that means getting rid of old stuff-and getting rid of nasty, negative people who have been taking up way too much of my time. By "get rid of" I don't mean kill off, I hasten to add. I'm going to be very, very busy.

Now, if I can stay upright until I get hung upside down, that would be pretty good.