I’m back! Back on my blog, back in my house, back in this world without TOO much damage to my bodily parts.

Where have I been? Well, there are two answers to that question. First answer – I’ve been with Branwell. Second answer – I’ve been in hospital. I don’t believe the second answer though because I KNOW I was with Branwell, I have the scurvy to prove it, and I REMEMBER being with Branwell but I don’t remember being in hospital where Lottie insists I was (not until I woke up on Ward 23 and that was only just over a week ago). It’s more TRICKERY from Lottie – I thought she’d given up trying to drive me mad but nope, here she goes again – she keeps telling me the bouncy period I was in ended with me bouncing out of my bedroom window right into Intensive Care, but she’s lying – when I ACCIDENTALLY FELL out of the window Branwell caught me and took me on a little holiday to the Victorian seaside where we spent the days walking the beaches looking for pretty shells, and eating lovely cakes in the tea shops.

I’m sorry I couldn’t come online to tell you where I was – the Victorian seaside tea shops aren’t wired up for the internet, in fact NOWHERE in Dead World is wired up for the internet. I tried sending a letter to my blog so you’d know where I was but the Victorian post is STUPIDLY slow and if my calculations are right (and they won’t be, I’m shite at Maths) the letter will have reached no further than 1871 (probably May or June) – and it’ll arrive here in 2154 when we’re ALL living in Dead World so you’ll know what it says before it gets here.

I don’t know how they got me out of Dead World and up onto Ward 23. Branwell doesn’t know either, but he says I put up a good fight to stop them taking me. The first thing I remember of Ward 23 is sitting in front of a NEW HEADSHRINKER (not the one in the blackmail shagging photos Scotty took) in a big room that had only two chairs (those we were sitting on) and a little table. She was about 8 years old and had her hair in PIGTAILED PLAITS and her mouth was going YAP, YAP, YAP, YAP, YAP, and then the yapping turned into words and she was saying, ‘You’ll have to do a lot of mindful work to get past this, Dotty,’ and my first thought was, ‘WHY IS THIS FUCKING EMBRYO TELLING ME WHAT TO DO?‘

They’d been AT me, full frontal lobotomy or something, because my head was wrapped in a big bandage and my arm was in plaster and other bits of me hurt like a bastard. The new headshrinker said she hadn’t done anything to me, the bandages and the plaster cast and the PAIN was from when I bounced out of the window. LIAR. I know what they did. Experiments. Nasty experiments on my brain. And my arm. And the other painful bits. I was so shocked I jumped up out of the chair (slowly – more of a hoik than a jump) and she jumped up too and she said, ‘Violence isn’t the answer, Dotty,’ and I said, ‘Don’t worry, love, I never punch anyone who’s wearing MOTHERCARE,’ and she pressed a button that was dangling from a strap round her neck and two whitecoats came in and took me to a room with a bed in it. That was sometime last week and I didn’t get home until the day before yesterday.  

I’ve got a lot of bloggy catching up to do, but after the experiments they did on me my brain isn’t functioning at its usual level of brilliance so I’ll do what I can and what I can’t do I won’t do. And thank you  very much for the emails (sorry I couldn’t let you know where I was).

P.S. What have I missed? Any good gossip?