Monday, 3 December 2007

And it's not eleven o'clock yet

So far this morning I have:
Lost Mog's handsplint.
Mislaid Little Fish's school book.
Watched the school bus come, disappear, and return again having forgotten to collect the escort.
Cooked up a batch of chicken and rice, pureed it all nicely for the girls and forgotten to dish out a plate of unpureed for me first.
Collected the latest batch of windfalls, and had to leave several for the slugs.
Been given a list of things to do on behalf of Goldy's relatives. Not pleasant things.
Had to track down one woman's phone number; a process which took 3 separate phonecalls to three separate secretaries across the county, each one of whom could simply have opened the internal directory and passed the number on, but instead chose to pass me to another administrator.
Received a message from my babysitter informing me that she is ill and has to cancel tonight.
Spoken to the mother of the children Little Fish was playing with on Wednesday, who informs me that her daughter has just gone down with chicken pox.
Found Mog's missing swimming costume; the one I had to replace last week.
Lost, completely and utterly, the new roll of bin bags I bought last week - and naturally only discovered this after throwing out the half full bin bag that was still in the bin and would otherwise have lasted until I bought new replacements.
And had Bob the builder turn up to work after his absence vowing to finish but being in visible agony from a kidney infection. Better laying decking with a kidney infection than laying a flat roof with a broken arm I suppose.
Here's where Bob is working today.

My one bright spot is the discovery, yesterday, of the boots my friend wore to Goldy's funeral. It is of course not wonderful that she's left them behind, and I'm thinking she'll probably need them over Christmas. The bright spot bit is that we now have a reason to get together again and soon. And Friend, if you're reading this, I didn't hide them, I promise! They were tucked beside the gas fire. With a wineglass.

I must go, whilst typing this the squash I was baking for alternative pureed meals has burnt. What next?

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