Sunday, 4 December 2016

No milk today...

Sleep deprivation is not the best thing to have to put up with when your dear old face needs every bit of beauty sleep it can muster.  When I finally sat down at my dressing table yesterday morning, I looked like I had been drained of every bodily fluid, and I could just about make out the wardrobe behind me in the mirror through my almost translucent skin.

On Friday evening I had gone out with lots of friends who I used to work with at a school.  There were teachers there (who were excellent at getting us to be quiet when the food was being brought out) and there was a matron (always handy when alcohol is being bandied around) and support staff (ever ready to listen to those needing to talk things through once the booze kicks in).  Unfortunately, there was no maths teacher present which might explain the problems with splitting the bill, but hey, you can't have everything.  It was great to see everyone, and what was best of all was seeing how we have all carved out beautiful paths for ourselves after school life.

As befitting ladies of a certain age, there  was much talk of diets (there were a couple of young whippersnappers there who opted out of this conversation).  One of the ladies had given up dairy, and had lost almost half a stone almost immediately.  'But what about your tea?' I asked, horrified that she might have had to wave goodbye to that also.  Apparently she now flits between goat's, coconut, soya and almond milk, none of which taste anything like the skimmed milk which I favour in my tea.  I have no faith whatsoever in these alternative milks.  As I said to my wonderful friend Mrs O'R, when someone points out to me where an almond's nipple is, I may consider it.  Till then, I think I'll stick to the red top.

We had the usual Saturday breakfast in Marlow, with Mrs Jangles, Miss R and I having a good old chat over some sausage and coffee.  Miss R had a date at lunchtime, and Mrs Jangles and I took some pleasure in threatening to sit in the same bar where she was meeting him.  I had suggested that we might hold up A4 sheets of paper with marks for presentation, content and style.  We got as far as the door to the bar, before we admitted that we never planned to come in and sit at the next table, and that she wasn't to worry.  Her relief was palpable...

Going back to the sleep deprivation, I had fallen into bed at midnight on Friday.  I was awake at 1.30 looking for Rennies (bloody Prosecco has a lot to answer for), and woke Reg up in the process of coming back to bed.  This was his cue for Edward Scissorhand like scratching at our bedroom door, and in the end, I headed off to daughter number one's current bedroom with the dogs in tow, in an attempt to sleep.  I managed about forty minutes before I woke up again.  This was because Reg was asleep on my head, his doggy breath hot on my left ear.

Wriggling out from underneath the Ninja schnauzer, I headed back downstairs.

I then had the first of six mugs of tea (no almond milk) before I headed back upstairs at 6.30 for another half an hour's sleep.

Which is why I resembled one of The Walking Dead most of yesterday...
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