I need to pay myself some attention.
I have been ignoring myself for the last few weeks, because of being busy having parties and singing carols and eating too much and going shopping.
Today I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the door of the wardrobe and noticed that whilst I have been otherwise engaged, my personal self has become rounded and scruffy.
My hair has grown until it resembles the branches of a mistletoe-adorned tree, and my waistline has grown until it resembles the trunk.
Something is going to have to be done.
We contemplated this over coffee in bed this morning. Mark has spotted a waistline problem of his own, indicated in his case by an inability to fasten his trousers.
I always buy my trousers a couple of sizes too big, for the purposes of comfortableness, and so my trousers are fine. Indeed, they fit me perfectly.
That is something to be pleased about, at any rate.
We thought that the problem might have been due to an excess of chocolate and idleness.
We had almost reached the dreadful point of deciding to do some exercise and eat vegetables, when the phone bleeped and it was my friend Kate, wondering if we could perhaps catch up with one another.
We invited them for dinner.
Obviously you can’t invite people for dinner and then spend the whole day exercising and then have to feed them on vegetables, so we thought that perhaps we would revisit that issue tomorrow.
I went to Sainsbury’s and bought some cream instead.
Mark said that no matter how badly he wanted to help me with the hoovering and dusting and cooking, his car had got a broken wheel bearing and he had got to fix it. He said that it was at that tiresome taxi stage where it was making such a dreadful grinding and bashing noise that he had got to go everywhere with the radio turned up. He apologised insincerely, put on his overalls and disappeared into his shed.
I roused the children from their late-morning slumbers and requested their assistance.
They are quite good at helping when it is compulsory. Also, Lucy needs to learn about how to be housewifely, because she is going to move out in September when she goes off to learn how to be a policeman, and so some domestic practice seemed like a good idea.
She could barely contain her delight.
That bit was not true. I added it in to make us sound like a television advertisement family who have lovely times cooking and cleaning out the bathroom sink together. Actually she rolled her eyes and grumbled and said that if she wants to eat cooked food she can always come home.
I made them tie large aprons over the top of their pyjamas, and between us we made bread, and cheese pasta and chocolate eclairs and jam-and-cream-eclairs, and then some raspberry fondant chocolates.
This took ages and was very sticky.
None of us like getting sticky, and there was a lot of squeaking and rushing to the sink to rinse chocolate away, but by the time we had finished the gypsy cake-stand was filled with splendid-looking confectionery.
We were very pleased with ourselves.
After that we tidied up crunched-up walnut shells from all over every single carpet in the house and moved the nuts out of the dogs’ way until the visitors have gone.
They have not arrived yet. We have got a pasta bake in the oven, which might or might not be nice, because I did not use a recipe but made it up. The bread has risen nicely and is wrapped in a cloth on the table, and the dogs are sitting staring longingly at the bowl of nuts on the coffee table.
I thought I would write this now in case I accidentally get drunk whilst we have got visitors.
It would not do to have to ask the children to write this. They have been quite helpful enough for one day.
