Not enough day for a diary entry really.
We finished work at half past four, collapsed between the sheets at six, and were woken up by the telephone ringing at two o’clock in the afternoon.
This did not leave very much day before going back to work, which I was supposed to be doing at four, but which in the event failed to happen until five.
The day was made profoundly irritating by Rosie having a misfortune on the bed whilst we were having coffee. Mark called her up to inspect her dog bite from yesterday, and she was so overwhelmed at this prospect that she had an inadvertent leak.
It was a very tiny leak, but there is no amount of dog wee on one’s duvet cover which could be said to be too small to be ignored. No wee at all is the way I like my sheets, as in, none whatsoever.
The whole lot had to be dragged off and washed. Well, they didn’t, but tomorrow is clean sheets day anyway, and there seemed to be no point in just washing the duvet cover, so we washed the lot.
The problem with this was the length of drying time available when you do not get up until the middle of the afternoon. By the time they had all been through the washing machine it was four o’ clock. Fortunately there was a stiff breeze, but they have not quite dried, and are still airing off even as I write.
I did not commit puppycide, but it was a close run thing.
She was so upset to discover that everybody was rushing about swearing, and it was all her fault, that she had a leak on her own bed as well.
I am going to issue her with a cork.
On that note I am off to read my book.
Until next time.
