After a day off work sick (where my entire head turned into a very successful snot factory, breaking several production records over the course of 24 hours), and another day off looking after the children while a vote went on at their school for Police Commissioners, I returned to work today.
I just deleted this paragraph twice while trying to conjure words that might describe the feeling of slipping backwards down a hill, stood on freshly oiled roller skates - because that’s what work felt like today.
End result of quite, quite mad day : hotel booked for next week, and realisation dawned that I will have to pack this weekend in order to pick up clothes mid-afternoon on Monday in order to make a 6 hour train journey to the client site. There’s no point flying because in England we have a bizarre situation where internal flights cost several times more than flights to various european destinations. Dangerously close to ranting. Tell me to shut up.
We tried to watch “Children in Need” this evening, but ended up playing board games with the kids. Everything went fine until bedtime, when Miss Eight exploded in fury at the suggestion that she might put a few things away. She stamped through the house hyperventilating, and screaming “FINE THEN!”, before W pulled her to one side and gave her a stern talking to. I tried to ignore the guilty little girl looking at her feet as her Mum asked quiet questions to her bowed head.
Anyway. I just drank half a bottle of wine - the first alcoholic drink all week. It’s gone straight to my head, and is no doubt causing all manner of grammatical litany.
Roll on the weekend.