Always one of the saddest days of the year for me.  I can’t remember how many Anzac Day services I’ve been to but this year may well be the frist time I’ve missed going to one since I was a teenager.  Two trips to Gallipoli in Turkey make it all the more emotional – that place can’t help but leave an impression on you.

And then there is the remembrance of my Grandfather in WW2 in New Guinea and then the awful family tragedy in 1988 when three of my young cousins drowned in a flooded creek out on their family’s property.  I never really knew them and if they’d lived I probably still wouldn’t be very close to them… but the idea of their little lives never having a chance?  It’s just gut wrenching…

Anzac Day is usually very solemn around here

I was reminiscing last night about how the last ten years have been.  Everyone has their ups and downs I suppose but I think we’ve had way too many downs for my liking in between car accidents, back pain, IVF and MND.

In particular I was thinking about my first Rowany Festival which happened to coincide with my first wedding anniversary AND my first IVF cycle.  I had been in the SCA for about two or three years already but this was the first time I had managed to make it to Festival.  I had been on assisted reproductive fertility treatments for about four months but this was the first cycle where I was injecting myself with massive amounts of hormones to get some eggs up.

So we were off at the old Tara site meeting loads of new people many of whom I knew by reputation already, was feeling unusually emotional and moody from the drugs and unable to drink alcohol on IVF.  The first couple of days were okay other than having to sit around totally sober watching everyone else getting all socially lubricated and laughing their arses off.   Then I think it was the Monday night that was the night of our first wedding anniversary.  We had arranged to have dinner in the campsite by ourselves that night as everyone else went off to the St Sebastian encampment for dinner.

We had a lovely dinner, I was stil naively optimistic about the IVF and Mr K and I were happy and thinking all was well with the world and looking forward to the future – having kids and maybe buying a new bigger house in case we had twins!  But not long after dinner I was feeling really kinda tired and decided to turn in early… I think around 10.30pm or so?  Mr K wasn’t tired though so he wandered off to the tavern saying he’d have a couple of drinks and be back to bed soom.  He tucked me in and wantedered off to the tavern.

I slept pretty soundly in spite of the drums (God I hate the drums at Festival) and was only awoken when Mr K stumbled into bed knocking things over, stinking to high heaven and at which point the following conversation ensued:

Borys:  (sleepily) Hey babe. You’re back.  What time is is?
Mr K:  (slurring) About 12 o’clock I think.
Borys:  Oh Phew!  God you reek of alcohol!
Mr K:  Yeah been drinking with the King.
Borys:  Oh okay.  Damn.  Now I’m awake I have to go to the loo.  🙁

Note to non festival initiates… going to the toilet in the middle of the night at Festival involves, getting a cloak, or other item of warmth, a torch or other light source and if you’re lucky a 100m walk.  On returning from the toilets Mr K was happily snorning away.  I stowed my things away and happened to check my watch… which said it was 3am!!!  I climbed into bed and shoved Mr K repeatedly until the next portion of the conversation was had:

Borys: (indignant)  Hey!  It’s 3am!  Why did you tell me it was midnight?
Mr K:  (still slurring and now half awake)  Huh?
Borys:  You said it was only midnight and it’s 3am?  Where have you been?
Mr K:  I was playing Tablero in the tavern with the King.
Borys: Until 3am!  It was supposed to be our anniversary remember?  🙁
Mr K:  Zzzzzzzzzzz………..
Borys:  (muttering) Bastard!

I managed to get back to sleep and eventually got up around 6am and pottered around the campsite until everyone slowly dragged their collective sorry hungover arses out of bed.  At around 7am Fabian, the then King got up, blinked in the sunlight, stretched and did a mighty yawn, tipped his boots upside down and bashed them (he’s American and we’d been scaring the living hell out of him about deadly spiders, scorpions and snakes in the area) before stumbling over to the dining pavillion to exchange good morning pleasantries.

Borys:  You guys were out late, you must be tired.  How was your night?  🙂
Fabian: Not bad, I was playing Tablero in the tavern with your husband ’til 1am.
Borys:   1am?  🙁
Fabian:  Yeah. Six hours sleep isn’t too bad.
Borys: Excuse me a moment… I’ll be right back.

ONE FUCKING AM ?!?!?  Borys marches back into her tent and shoves Mr K repeatedly until he blearily acknowledges that the thumping isn’t just in his head.  Shove… shove…

Borys:  You said you were playing Tablero in the tavern with the King until 3am.
Mr K:   Wha?
Borys:  The King just told me he left the tavern and went to bed at 1am!
Borys:  What on earth were you doing until 3am?
Mr K:   The King left me there to play in his place…
Mr K:   … and I got stuck playing with Elspeth   🙁
Borys:  LOL… well in that case you deserve everything you get!

Mumble fuck, mumble fuck…. Happy Anniversary indeed!   🙂
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PS – The moral of the story?  If I’d just be able to have my port like normal… none of this would have happened!!!   Oh, and don’t mess with a  chick on IVF hormones!!!