The Weekend Before
In June I had a miscarriage. I was quite upset, and determined to get straight back to treatment (he had a vasectomy, so we’re doing ICSI); but when I pitched up at the clinic, my doctor had gone on holiday. Nt only that, but the embryologist had gone away too, so there was to be no treatment for me in July. But things always work out for the best.
I went home, and booked a flight to the UK instead. My uncle was visiting from Canada for an old-boys’ reunion, and my aunt who I had never yet met had a few days to spare. So I set off for the UK, not knowing whether or not my long lost relatives (who were already there) would have the opportunity to get online and meet with me. To make sure, I flooded the cybersphere with messages for them… Facebook, Yahoo! and McGill all hosted frantic messages from me! Thankfully, Karen checked her email, my mother credited my UK line, and arrangements were made to meet up in Chester after the weekend.
That gave me the weekend in Liverpool with my mother, Joy. That was the weekend of the Phil concert down at Pierhead, to which Joy took me. We popped into the new Museum, which had stayed open for the occasion, and were singularly underawed by everything in there, except for the queue to the loos (about a mile long) and the model of the original plan for the Catholic Cathedral. The lightshow which followed was pretty cool too, but I thought it was a bit too much, really. I mean, they portrayed the liverbird as a huge, scary monster, and had giant spiders scurrying over the building. I mean, it was enough to give the sdults nightmares, much less the kids! Fantastic that we had security alarms going off in the next building… and did you notice the guys on the top floor of the liverbuilding didn’t shut their blinds straight?