8 DPO.

Traveling has messed up my body clock and my awareness of what my body is doing, although to be fair that could be an overindulgence of English food as well. Curries, kebabs, pizza @ Mulberry street, dinners out, takeaways...God, I love this country, even if my waistline doesn't.

We've managed to get away with a minimum of being cooked at (my mother in law does not cook for you, she cooks at you -- Irish food aggression at its best) and have escaped with only one full English breakfast (a landing in England tradition) and two sausage sarnies. I think she feels thwarted, but not being cooked at is lovely.

Even so, I don't feel pregnant, and last time by 7 DPO I was *sure*, so I think I am going to need to assume that this cycle, too, is a bust. Our GP is happy to refer us directly to Guy's, do not pass go, do not collect £200...so at least there is that. I'll go as long as the insurance covers me but once that is up, I'll be on the next flight to England to start the Master Plan.

It's a bit depressing, but then again I could just be exhausted.