Drinky drink...

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Some days just don't go to plan....

Yesterday should have gone something like this...

Get up at reasonable time
Do ironing
Visit poorly Step Daddy Dick in hospital
Drive home
Walk dogs while husband mows lawn and cleans Wobble Box
Go to cinema to see Queen movie with the husband
Bed

Unfortunately, between 6.00pm and midnight on Friday, I was necking gin like there was no tomorrow with several neighbours brave enough to chance a Charlie Friday.

Waking up on Saturday morning, each side of my head was hurling abuse at the other, and I resigned myself to the husband doing all the dog walking while I laid in bed feeling sorry for myself.  Mind you, he wasn't in a much better state than I was, so I accepted that I may have a fight on my hands.

And then the phone rang...

It was Jolly Sock Man, daughter number two's other half.  Did the husband want to go and watch the rugby?  Well he was out of that bloody bed like his pyjamas were on fire, and fifteen minutes later, out of the house without so much as a 'can I get you an aspirin before I go?'

With the aid of some industrial strength painkillers, I managed a lovely walk with the boys, and polished off my Saturday with a pot of tea and a glamorous pudding at a posh gaffe with Mrs S.  We'd decided to dress up smartly for this (no jeans)and just as I was leaving the house, there was a knock at the door.  It was my neighbour Mr H.

He looked me up and down.  'You're not helping with the litter pick this afternoon then?'

Aah, the litter pick.  Probably should have been slotted in somewhere between the hospital visit and the lawn mowing.

Gin, and the pourer thereof, (the husband) have a lot to answer for...

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