…and TB and I have hardly done anything worthwhile this weekend. The washing is done, the ironing waits for me to do, probably tomorrow, I didn’t do any of the little jobs that have been rattling around in my head all week that you save up for the weekend. We have mostly sat around reading and watching cricket.
The only productive thing we did was to go to Brighton to P’s 30th birthday. We had a great time, held downstairs in a pub we arrived early, knowing that we had to drive home, and with the clocks disengaging themselves we would get back really late. It meant that we could have a chat with P & C before the evening got going properly. P was in a new suit, brought that day, given how tall he is, it gave them a lot of heartache to find one, then as sod’s law dictates, everywhere they went after that had suits in the sale. But they were both on top form, obviously enjoying living with each other, I just hope P’s hangover this morning wasn’t one of his epic ones.
The amp that was set up so friends could DJ for them wasn’t working properly, so P was fretting, but another one was found and the party started. I disappeared to the loo, and when I came back out, the amount of people in the room seemed to have doubled. How do people know when to appear to make a party jump?
We ducked out at the same time as Michael Ball finished singing and was being waved off by his cronies at the Brighton Centre. There were so many women of such an uncertain age to be obvious we thought Daniel O’Donnell was in town, but even though the coaches had the blackest of blacked out windows, (winted tindows in our family thanks to one of Mum’s spoonerisms) they were waving him off. Looking at the queue to get out the car park we went back into town to have KFC – totally not on the diet and something we aren’t happy we ate, but it was either that or McD (sorry W). There was still a queue to get out, but all of a sudden we moved freely, someone had evidently had enough and was holding the barrier up! We listened to whispering Bob Harris on the way home, and were still driving when the clocks changed. TB drove there and back, thank you babe.
I didn’t sleep very well, and have been grumpyish today. Not to screaming pitch, which can be the case with interrupted sleep, but feeling very listless and a bit blue. We met some friends in a pub this afternoon, missing my optimum snoozette time, but we had a laugh, shared nachos and walking back I felt better for it. I had a sleep when we got home, but woke up at 7.40 in the evening, because although it is only an hours difference, it takes me so long to get my body clock sorted. Every year, twice a year, it makes me feel worse than jet-lag (I can say that now after Oz this year) at least with jet lag people understand why you are all over the place. I know that tomorrow morning is going to be a real struggle and we have the biggest meeting of the week first thing, and I will feel like my eyes are on stalks, will struggle to concentrate and will totally lose the plot at lunchtime. It drives me mad, I am now sat here at nearly 10pm, wide awake thinking it is only 9pm. Aargh!
Anyway this weekend, I have read lots, Jilly Cooper does that to you. I read quite intellectually most of the time, but once a year I indulge in the jolly good fun, trashy, easy to read, but the quite unputdownable bliss that is her books. I have had some odd looks from people on the tube this week, but I don’t care, unlike Jackie Collins her books have plots, are full of descriptive detail, and above all are bloody funny.
I must close now, I need to make the bed properly, I just folded myself in the duvet this afternoon and posted myself off to sleep. I also need to sort my clothes out for tomorrow and other such exciting stuff. Either way, I will have a busy week this week, I need to catch up on all that I missed this weekend, if I can stop reading that is.