It’s rained an awful lot since the day I got married. I know this because my pond, which was half empty on that very day, is now almost full. And it’s a bloody big pond.
It’s been a tad windy here over the weekend. I know this not because the weatherman told me, nor because I’ve heard the non-existent gale-force wind that the weatherman promised would blow me away, but because the For Sale sign for the house behind us has almost fallen down on our car. Humpf.
I have no oompf at the moment. I’ve spent the last few days feeling increasingly moody and miserable. I have no sense of direction and the slightest thing is messing with my head. I wish that Christmas would get a move on. But not to the extent that I want to be gliding down the aisles of Tesco, banging into people and glaring at them so that they’ll say sorry to me, and have Christmas songs blaring in my ears. Damn Tesco.
I don’t want to talk to anyone and yet I’m stalking everyone.
I’d like to settle down for dinner with Mathew Horne and Burn Gorman. I’m feeling particularly broody.
Yay! Work tomorrow!
please God, bless the sarcasm xxx Elsabeth