The holidays ended for me today.
I did a practice day back at work. I forced my lazy arse out of bed and into the studio. I arrived late, left early, and fannied about while I was there. Monday I’ll be ready for action.
I was an inefficient shopper in M and S the other day. I apologised to the exasperated till operator for my ditsyness. I blamed four days on the sofa for my slow reactions. The cashier rolled her eyes. She stepped out from behind the till and tripped over a stack of baskets. You might have a point, she said.
There have been some notable highs over the break:
Tv time with my boy, Death to 2020, The Ripper.
A few seconds of snow on Primrose Hill in the company of GorJus, a variety of well dressed kids and posh dogs.
Frenchie’s Xmas socks. They are odd, which may be descriptive of us/our relationship in itself, however she expanded on this, she named these knitted gems, Sisters not Twins. Although Frenchie’s socks are special, they behave much like all of the socks with whom I’ve had a relationship, one will always leave. This results in many very odd pairs. Some of the resulting hotchpotch of mismatched socks could be described as siblings but many are cousins, some just by marriage, some might just be friends or even acquaintances.
Never mind, they are all invited to the party that is my sock drawer.
fat tart 