I have been abandoned. Not at home of course, as the husband would never be brave enough to leave me. The kids couldn't wait to leave the building, but I must have some strange hold over my dearly beloved as he seems to want to hang around. Mind you, if he thinks of any more manual jobs for me this weekend, I may be the one moving out.
No, I have been abandoned at work. Master B and Master P, the two young boys I have the daily joy of working with, are on a training course, and Mr W (our boss, who is only marginally older than daughter number one) is on holiday. Which leaves me in charge of the sales office at Binland.
Now I like a challenge as much as the next person, but yesterday peaked at around 11.03am when I realised that I had been needing a comfort break since I got in at 8.30. Reaching a speed Roger Bannister would have been impressed with, I hurtled down the corridor towards the loo. There were a couple of colleagues in the corridor at the time who looked like they might like a chat, but I was stopping for no one, and the two of them pressed up against the wall to avoid being trampled.
All in all, it was a very busy day for me yesterday. I have two more the same before they all head back, so if there is no blog tomorrow, it is because I am buried beneath a pile of skip orders and credit notes. It would be nice if someone sends out a search party if nothing is posted by the Bird by 10.00.
So it was colder yesterday - my leggings came out of the bloody Winter Clothes Suitcase again - and I'm concerned about the bedding plants which I planted out last week, having not heeded the warning from the man in the garden centre who kept telling me that I should wait till May. Mmm, I've known summers which have ended in May, so if he thinks I am going to sit and look at an empty border for the next month, he's got another thing coming.
I was voicing my concern to the husband last night, who is not famous for his gardening prowess. He is to gardening what Henry VIII is to a happy marriage. Plants either die, get thrown out having been mistaken for weeds or have their heads removed by over zealous lawn mowing. On this occasion though, he came up trumps, and it's at times like this that I remember why I married him. I was saying that we should buy some fleece to cover the delicate plants I'd thrown into the mud in the borders, to protect them from the frost which was forecasted.
'Oh don't bother', says the husband. 'Fleece costs more than the bedding plants did, so if they die, we'll still be quids in even if we have to replace the lot'.
Funny he can be so laissez-faire over things he doesn't particularly care about. Not like the wall. Oh no, that can't be left as it is. That has to be perfect. I haven't told him about the concealing accessories, so maybe he won't notice the nasty black shadow. Perhaps I'll just tell him that I've already done the second coat when he was at work.
The other option is to hide his glasses. Never mind not noticing the black shadow, he won't even know whether he's in the kitchen or the garden...