I really want to blog about snooker. Yes, its that time of year again. And I know, I am not the fan I used to be. I don't approve of the fashion of not wearing white shirts. I am amazed that Steve Davis is still playing (and so well, and not so dully, is this an alternative universe?). I am pleased that Ronnie has cut his hair and no longer looks like a Big Girl's Blouse. And of course I hope that Paul Hunter's chemo treatments go well. But, alas this is not the post about Stevens or Higgins, how I always wanted to be on Gimme a Break!, or even what Greenwood said to me last night. Instead I am forced to blog about my family.

My sisters are evil. And not in a grand style. Or an entertaining style. No, they are evil in a little tiny annoying but still evil way. Went to Wales last week. Long weekend. Get away from work. Relax a bit. Drink too much red wine. Etc. Etc. Did have a lovely meal in Conway and not in the fish and chip place I usually go to. No, went to a place I read a review about in the Saturday Guardian. I would definitely recommend the side of broccoli with Welsh rarebit. But then I would recommend anything there. But halfway through the trip, the older sister had a major falling out with her live-in partner that involved possible abuse against a child and some truly horrible verbal abuse and lots of drama. Which I am slowly dealing with. Upset me in all sorts of ways for all sorts of reasons. Anyway, that was more pathetic than completely evilness. But Roberta was supposed to be flying back to France last Friday. She couldn't because she needed to look after sister's three four children as the older sister had to go to England to help out the younger sister. I thought it was something to do with presenting a business plan to a bank manager to set up a business. No, I have just discovered, as did Roberta that actually the younger sister needed the older sister to pick her up from hospital because she had just had liposuction done on her knees. Oh and her thighs. I am not sure what surprises me more. That the three (two sisters and Barry) had to keep the secret from their mother. That the younger sister had tried to get her dad to fly over from France to pick her up. That she managed to completely disrupt her sister's life to get her to pick her up. Or even, and I the lonely person I am, am taken aback by this, that the younger sister didn't have anyone else, a friend, or something living closer than five hours driving away that could pick her up, take her home and feed her oranges and antibiotics for a few days. I don't know, maybe I am unreasonable. But I prefer to think that my sisters are evil. I think it has also managed to turn what was actually quite a horrible, awful situation, into a farce. Won't be going back to Wales anytime soon.