Sunday Morning
It's heading towards 11am. The younger children have gone to a rugby tournament. I am staying home to keep an eye on Miss 14, who went spectacularly nuclear yesterday. She is up, sat behind me in the study, and still not talking to me (or anybody else).
I just got back from town. Early morning shopping trip. I had all the intentions in the world of sitting in Starbucks for an hour, staring at a cup of coffee on my own, but gave up after standing in the queue that wasn't moving for a few minutes. I feigned looking at my watch, then left the queue and continued walking to the supermarket.
After picking up a completely random assortment of lunchbox food for the next week – I wasn't really thinking about it – the thought occurred to me to visit the newspaper shop and get some nerdy magazine or other – except of course they were shut. In what world does a newspaper shop not open until 11am on a Sunday morning ?
So here I am – back home, drinking instant cappuccino from my superman mug, eating a chocolate cookie from the supermarket, and writing this. I'll be filling the washing machine up in a bit, and getting on with more ironing. I rock. Not.