Recovering

I'm only just getting over Ibiza now. What with having to traipse up to the top of the cathedral and take two different taxi boats to Ibiza Town, I was exhausted by day three. And then they made me get on this lilo just so they could laugh at me.

Anyway, why aren't you watching Antiques Road Trip? It'll give you some ideas for what to buy. And don't say you don't like antiques. Nobody hates antiques. That's ridiculous! Anyway, if you see any puppets in boxes like these, buy them. Doesn't matter how much, just buy them an

d then I can sell them on. They go mad for these at Dagfields, I'm telling you now.

Technomuppet

Ibiza

The dog's been down to the cemetery with Paul to see your grandmother. I've not been down there for six months, but it's these bloody hot flushes. If I can get your father to get me some more oestrogen, I might be a bit more compos mentis, but the only conversation you ever get is about sudokus. If he asks you a question, it's only ever a cryptic clue.

Did I tell you I've bought £350 worth of antique glass at auction, only I've broken two ewers already. I'm not sure if it's getting old or these varifocals, but I just can't judge where the tops of things are. It's terrible.

And I don't know why I'm going to Ibiza. I must be mad. Guess who's booked flights which leave at 7am? It's alright for him, he's not permanently shattered...

Muppet Extreme Problem Solving (Carly Simon remix)

Dog Urine

I've been trying to plan a holiday, but it's just too stressful, so I just don't think I can bring myself to go anywhere. Everywhere you go, it's either too hot, the flight's too long or they don't speak proper English, so you might as well just stay at home. I mean, it's enough to send your blood pressure through the roof trying to get a decision out of Kirsty and besides, they want a beaches and bloody mountains to go running up, so where are you supposed to go for that? I think I'd rather just stay at home and look after Evie, only now she's lost her lipstick and eyeshadow in the shape of a mobile phone, so there'll be hell to pay if that doesn't turn up behind the settee.

I tell you, it's just easier to stay here and forget the idea of holidays, because then there's the dog who can't be left five minutes without needing to empty his bladder. Your father and I have spent the last 25 years mopping up dog urine. It's just a blessing that this floor's Amtico, that's all I'm saying.

That Manchester

They all have to be different up in That Manchester. It's not like Stoke where everybody's normal...

Trying to view photos

Your father's put these pictures of Kirsty riding the horse and I'm trying to view them. It says 'Open folder to view files'. Should I do that? I just don't understand. There's every folder under the sun here. There's this one called 'Mia', only it's not the horse, it's that woman that JJ used to hang around with. How stupid is that? Having a woman and a horse both called Mia? So I've no idea which folder to look in now and your father's gone out for a curry, so he's no use, especially having knocked himself unconscious falling off that bloody trampoline. I wish I'd gone for the curry now, only I didn't feel up for it, not after that virus last week. I'm barely over it now. I'll need a holiday, I'll tell you that much. I'm thinking Corfu, so this volcano had better stop or I'll have a nervous breakdown.

Anyway, show me some nice pictures of that house in Stansted...

World of Pat's latest follower...

Pine Coffee Table

I shouldn't have to be videoing pine coffee tables at my age, not with all of the bending involved. It's far too much of a rigmarole. I'll be expecting a profit, I'll tell you that much.

And I don't care if this is a duck or an avocet or whatever it bloody well is. I'm not taking a penny less than £30 and the Koreans can like it or lump it.

Oestrogen

It's taken me most of the week to recover from that drive back from Bury St Edmunds. It's just too stressful trying to drive half way across the country at my age. I got quite severely papped when I changed lanes just outside Cambridge and my nerves have been shattered since. And then, after all that, you come back to Stoke and end up having an argument with the receptionist at the surgery. I told her, "I've been coming here for 31 years," and she just shrugged and carried on with her filing. But they don't card, do they, if you've been deprived of oestrogen and keep burning up with hot flushes in the middle of the night. They just don't give a damn. And the doctors are no better. They just say, "Give up smoking and I'll give you the oestrogen." Give up smoking? They're supposed to be helping me, not telling me to give up smoking. They don't know what it's like. I can't give up just like that, not at my age. Not with the dog wanting letting out every five minutes. I'm up and down like a yoyo. You can't expect me to stop smoking in this chaos, can you?