We go together...

Apologies for going on the missing list  yesterday.  This is what happens when the husband plies me with cider over a length of time.  Six hours to be precise.  By the time I got home, I was bang in the middle of the hangover I should have had on Monday morning, so as you can imagine, humour had taken a back seat.

Anyway, life (and my head) have returned to normal, so it's time to catch up.

Exciting news for me actually.  I have been approached by a lovely local girl, and asked to try out some gorgeous face creams, potions and lotions, with a view to telling you all how I feel about them. Now as we all know, I am a sucker for anything which promises miracles in the wrinkle department, and short of laying myself on the ironing board, I have tried just about everything to halt the wrinkles, jowls and lines which seem to be squatting on my face. (Definitely squatting, as they weren't invited that's for sure).

So over the next couple of weeks, I'll let you know how I'm getting on.  

Going back to the barbecue which we were at on Sunday, this just happened to be taking place at the same time as a vintage car show, and the venue backed on to our friends' garden.  This meant that the husband could drag me (slowly as I'm now crutchless) around a field filled with classic cars, next to which stood various gentlemen who had probably not seen their wives and children for twenty years, such was the commitment to the cars. Some of them probably haven't seen their feet for a while either, but that's a whole different problem.

So having limped around the field, asking the appropriate questions, 

'How old is that?' 
'What's that worth now?' 
'Do you drive it often?'
'Do you have a life?'

the husband then suggested it was time to go to the barbecue.  And that's where it all went wrong I'm afraid.

One cider turned into two, and two into three.  I was playing the 'I have a bad leg and can't walk' card which seemed to be working very well, and the husband kept me in cider and sausages for the afternoon.  As it got nearer to 6.00, the husband got out of his chair, suggesting that it was time to make a move.  He had a load of paperwork to do, so needed to get back.

The trouble was, I really couldn't walk by then.  'Yeah yeah', laughed the husband.  'Come on, up you get'.

He hoisted me out of the wicker chair which had been my home for five hours (ladies, I hope you are impressed with my stamina), and half walked/half carried me back to the car.  Once home, I crashed onto the sofa and started watching Grease.  This is an all time favourite film which I watched nine times when I was 15.  I did go a tenth time, but spent the whole film snogging Gareth Millington, so I suppose that doesn't count.  Seeing the Pink Ladies, the husband sat down, and said, 'Just ten minutes, then I'll go and do that paperwork'.

Well he slept through Grease.
He slept through Wild Alaska.
He slept through Countryfile.

He woke up just as Poldark started, and asked whether 'he'd been asleep long'.

Long enough for me to have two cups of tea and a mini cup-cake, put the washing on, empty the dishwasher and take up my ironing.  I also managed to feed the dogs and get my clothes ready for work.

Bloody lightweight wasn't even drinking...


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