Those magnificent men in their flying machines...

It's been one of my busiest days ever at Binland today.  I managed to sit at my desk for a whole five hours without once getting up for a much needed comfort break, despite having imbibed several mugs of tea courtesy of Master J .  (I knew there would come a time when I would be grateful for all those pelvic floor exercises we were told to do in the 1980's).

Coming home this afternoon, I actually had nothing planned so I took myself off to the back garden where I dragged my dirty old deckchair into a sun puddle and sat for a whole half an hour with my face turned up to the sun like a crazy sunflower.  What is it with this weather by the way?  Like it wasn't hard enough facing up to wearing a bikini in February last weekend, I had to come home to this.  My summer clothes have been languishing in the airing cupboard since September, so it's been a case of adapting what I've got so that I don't overheat and start looking like a burst tomato.  Basically, this has meant leaving my vest off so minimal change for maximum effect.  But not to worry ladies, this beautiful weather is short lived, and no doubt by Friday I'll be back in my polo necks and thermal vests like a proper British person.

Exciting news though.  The husband is having a flying lesson on Saturday.  This was a Christmas present from son number two and the husband is hoping for a beautifully still, clear skied day for his hour at the controls (God help us all).  Looking at the weather for Saturday, it would appear that a rather brisk wind will be blowing through, accompanied with some rain for the full British weather effect.  His lesson will be lively to be sure.

But I shall be staying in the car park.

Is this car park local?

Oh no.  It's in Milton Keynes where I shall be just leaving a posh hotel after a day and night of pampering with daughter number two.

This was my Christmas present.

I have a feeling that I will be coming home looking and feeling much calmer than the husband, after his hour of being thrown around in a storm in the plane equivalent of an egg box.

As long as he stays 'up tiddly up up'...


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