The new thermal vest (yes, my life is one long parade of sexy lingerie and silk sheets) I bought in M&S will barely even go over my head. When I did get it over my head I found both arms stuck in the arm holes and the rest of the vest wedged amidst my bosoms. When I eventually wrestled myself out of it, further investigations revealed that this would be because I have somehow bought a size 8. A size EIGHT. Clearly my eyesight is worse than I suspected. Oh what a laugh I had......
The next thing I discovered was that I'd lost the receipt. In a desperate bid to find it I searched through the kitchen big bag. A bin bag containing (amongst other things) nappies, mackerel, old curry and old yoghurt. I quickly decided that no receipt was worth that much torture and went to phone M&S to check their refund policy only remember that OF COURSE I don't have a phone because the lovely workmen outside have dug up my phone cable. This is shortly before they start a series of 'nightworks' right outside my house, where they will be using heavy machinery of a very loud nature between 6.30pm and 5am every night to widen the road........I'm looking forward to that - A LOT!
Giving it up as a bad lot I decided to tidy up and hereby an unfortunate incident occured involving a very nice, reasonably expensive, cream top I own. It was hanging up to to dry when I walked past with a load for the dishwasher. At precisely the wrong moment I wobbled and a large spatula covered in curry flew through the air and landed on the (once) lovely cream top...... A moment I wish I could reverse.
I began trying to remove the curry stain, only to return to the kitchen to discover that my children had, apparently, been recreating 'bonfire night' using every toy in the house. These had been launched through the air as 'fireworks' and the mess defies belief. I say defies because it is still there - and the children are shut in the front room with toast and Cbeebies while I scream into cyberspace........ They are currently arguing over whether the level crossing gates on the model railway should be open or shut and who gets to push the bus over.... At this rate the only person pushing the bus will be me - and I'll be pushing it straight out the front door and into the dustbin.
So I sit admist a mountain of trashed toys vest-less, top-less (I do have a dressing gown on - I don't blog in the nude, god forbid), phone-less and wondering what the rest of the day has to offer.
Is it too early for a gin?