Actually they sound a bit like a rusty gate   Leave a comment

A pudding race might be the only type I could win.

So what happened on Wednesday the 25th? Nowt. Righto, next! What happened on Thurs- oh, apparently we don’t get off that easily.

But Wednesday was another unenthusiastic day. Surprise! Not much happened. At least I made it to the gym, so it wasn’t a dead loss, except of time and energy. But that’s the point.

A few minutes after I got home, Mum called, so that took up the next three-quarters of an hour. It wasn’t so bad, though; it was actually quite funny. Apparently her recently-widowed headmistress, who’d been doing such an overly-enthusiastic job of mourning, was secretly going at it with one of the governers. Well, they say the best way to get over loss is to keep busy.

As well as that, I was promised a pheasant that Mum had got cheap from her gamekeeper friend (apparently it’s quite thoroughly shot, but should be plenty for one person), and I asked if she’d keep an eye out for reduced haggis in Asda. There’s usually a glut just after Burns’ Night, and I do like a bit of haggis.

After that… A shower and bed, more or less. I don’t remember anything else. I can’t remember much from the first half of last week, really, and I don’t think it’s just because my memory is sometimes ropey. It was just a rather dull and miserable few days.


Posted 1 January 2012 by Colthor in Diary

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