As if it wasn’t already late enough I have just spent an extremely tiresome half an hour trying to log myself in to my own website, which had decided, in a moment of sulkiness, to refuse to acknowledge my password.
I do not have the first idea why it might have done this, and it has made me extremely shirty, I can tell you.
I am a bit hormonal anyway. The hormones come in a packet these days, but they make me grumpy all the same. Also they have the magnificent benefit that Mark knows in advance on which days he might be wisest to slope off out of the way, simply by counting down how many tablets are left in the packet.
He put the packet in the drawer today, and I couldn’t find it. I asked him to dust the bedroom, because he was at home. I know he understands in theory what dusting is about, but the practicalities seem to have escaped him a bit, and he has moved all my things to unexpectedly hidden places, dusted the dressing table by means of switching on the hairdryer, and left cobwebs festooning the light fitting.
I am trying to appear grateful but without success. In any case, he is almost never grateful for my dusting activities, so I don’t suppose it will matter.
He also got the dinner ready, whilst I was having my night class. I was grateful for this, although I had become so hungry in the time that had elapsed since breakfast that I had just devoured half a bag of chocolate buttons, which took the edge off my appetite a bit. This was not entirely a bad thing because Mark had been to see if there were any bargains in Sainsbury’s and come back with some Special Offer Reduced garlic bread.
We discovered afterwards that it was reduced because it was made of bamboo and cardboard, without any recognisably edible ingredients listed on the packet, and although he had managed to render it fairly palatable with the addition of lots of garlic butter and rock salt, we thought that perhaps we would not purchase it again, even if it were to be given away as a free gift with chocolate buttons.
The night class was ace, and I regretted bitterly having had the sort of week with very little spare time for writing things, because this is my favourite way to spend a day.
Tonight we were talking about colours, and how to use them in writing. This is important. If you describe your living room as having been decorated in soft shades of palest lavender and apricot, it sounds much nicer than if you explain that you have inadvertently painted it in orange and purple. I have managed to reconcile myself to all sorts of decorating disasters in this manner.
We were also required to bring something important to us and talk about it, like Show And Tell at primary school. I had carelessly skipped over that bit of the instructions and so was obliged to go and find something in the coffee break, in between writing a brief and colour-related story about a bride who had been ditched at the altar.
In the end I found a picture and warbled a bit about family ties, and was sorry afterwards, because now I have got to write a story about it before next week.
I have put it on the very long list of things I have got to accomplish before next week. It is a comprehensive list, because not only has the terrible Countdown To Christmas now begun, in a very short time we are going to have to head off to Scotland to collect Oliver, and my To Do List has stretched to the point where I could use it to wallpaper over the orange and purple paintwork.
I am going to go to bed.
I can worry about it in the morning.
