I am really tired.
I am really, really tired and I also have a headache.
I spent the night not sleeping on the sofa because Friend-Sophie was tucked up, snoring peacefully (and may I just add, loudly) in my bed.
I know that I told her that she could (borrow my bed, not snore), but since she had also had the temerity to bring two bottles of wine with her which, in the interests of being a good host, I pretended to enjoy; I now look like something the dog dug up.
It is also possible that I may have broken my toe when we were jiving away to Hard Day’s Night which was on Sky movies last night. I say jiving but a more accurate description would probably be enthusiastically jumping on and off the sofa whilst flinging my arms around.
I’m pretty sure when Friend-Sophie and I were sixteen; we used to cut a pretty impressive figure on the dance floor. But, if the Teenager is correct, my milkshake definitely won’t be bringing any boys to the yard these days.
To make matters worse, I rang the local authority this morning to find out about the pink bin for Anna’s roller skates and it turns out that they only come in certain colours. What’s more, it also appears that the ‘caaarncil’ have very strict rules about what you can put in each one. These demanding little buggers (bins not ‘caaarncil’ workers) also have their own preferred collection days.
Managing my bins dietary and social schedule sounds like it’s going to be a fairly full on process in the future but the bit that really threw me was when I asked the, rather superior lady from the rubbish department, what I am supposed to be using the black bin for then.
The black bin is, she explained as though talking to a five year old, for normal rubbish.
I started feeling a bit nostalgic for the good old days when rubbish was just old crap that you didn’t want anymore.