8th August 2005
Hi all,
Last week was one on the weeks where I start work at 8.30am and finish at 5pm. I love those weeks. I have to get up a bit earlier but then getting home earlier in the evening more than makes up for it. I have longer in the evening to get on with more things and generally be more productive (providing that people don't send me links like
this).
Well, that's the theory anyway. Some weeks don't work out that way. Like last week for instance.
Monday: On the way home I stop at a local supermarket to pick up some necessary bits and pieces, which means I get home after 6pm instead of before 6pm, always a "Is this worth it?" situation. I don't know quite what it is about getting home before 6pm that makes an evening so much better, but it does. This isn't a good start to the week.
I got home and was enjoying dinner with Lorraine when I thought a saw a tuft of blonde hair through the living room window. I got up to investigate, but thought I must have imagined it until I heard a very quiet knock at the door.
So we were receiving a visit from our friends' four year-old daughter. Never mind, it would only be brief, given that Lorraine was going out with Lucy that night. The problem came when Lorraine suggested to the same four year-old that perhaps I should be watched to make sure I behaved myself. A four year-old takes that kind of thing seriously, and so she made a return visit later on in the evening, interrupting my viewing of the Braves-Pirates game on NASN.
During the game I passed on the information that the guys in white with the navy caps were the good guys. Being a smart four year-old my guardian for the evening managed to work out that the guys in grey with the black caps were the bad guys. It seems I've got a lot of potential to be a dreadful parent - my Dad will be so proud!
Tuesday: This evening was looking good, even before I got home. Lorraine's friend Karen was popping round, which meant that they'd be downstairs and I'd be upstairs, getting on with things that need to get done (even if that meant paying the electric bill, ugh!).
Small problem - when I got home Lorraine's mobile wasn't working, so she didn't know if Karen had sent her a text message or not (something Karen could do in her sleep, incidentally). After getting the phone working again (a process of removing the battery and putting it back in again on a few occasions) a stream of texting between Lorraine and Karen was on again. As it turned out there had been a mix-up, and Lorraine was meant to be going to Karen's.
Before I knew it I was occupying the role of taxi driver, going backwards and forwards between home and Coatbridge. That was eighty minutes of my life wasted on a loop of the A72, M74, A725, A8 and A73 (my father-in-law could give you the same route, but with names instead of letters and numbers - think yourself lucky).
Wednesday: I think every married woman must know that a man can only handle hearing the words, "We need to go shopping," so many times before they unwillingly capitulate. Wednesday night was my night to cave in, but with the condition, "Okay, but we're not going to be long."
If you're a woman and you're reading this you're probably laughing right now. To suggest that we would not be long was both foolish and ridiculously optimistic, as we in fact arrived home about ninety minutes after we had left home. Terrific. To add insult to injury it didn't even seem that we had bought that much, at least in terms of quantity (the receipt said otherwise, financially anyway).
Right when we got home the phone rang. Luckily for me it was Neil, so there was a chance to relax. Typically for me with my best friends time drifted away somewhat. Lorraine gave me a few obvious glances at her watch, and when the call ended the phone display told me that we had been talking for over forty minutes.
Needing to make up for the time I had spent on the phone I set about some chores Lorraine had asked me to do. It was time to forget about doing anything I wanted to do that evening, as it clearly wasn't going to happen.
Thursday: Finally the evening to chill out and get on with other things! Or so I thought.
As Lorraine and I engaged in small talk about our days I went to put my hand on a chair by the dining room table, at which point I noticed a third place was set for dinner. I hate surprise arrivals being sprung on me, but I had to ask who was coming for dinner. A familiar four-year-old had "invited herself" for dinner. Lorraine and I both laughed - what can you do when that happens?
Well in Lorraine's case you try and create a dinner for three out of nothing (remember again, we'd been to a supermarket only the day before), and unsurprisingly created something tasty (remember, Lorraine was cooking - everything she puts oven mitts on turns out well). Of course that was only the beginning of the entertainment.
Amid all the questions (the primary reason that four-year-olds speak, it would seem), photos with dogs (featuring a dog who doesn't like having his photo taken, sorry Cookie) and general mayhem I tried to sneak away to get on with things. Of course if you try to hide from a four-year-old they will try and find you. This occasion was no exception - I had no chance of a peaceful evening, and gave up a little while afterwards.
Friday: My one real chance to get on with things in the week, and I looked to take advantage. With Lorraine on a backshift I arranged to work through my lunch and get away at 4pm. It was on the way home that I remembered we hadn't paid the window cleaner for as long as I could remember, and that he usually collects payment on alternate Fridays. Would he be visiting this week? I'd have to make a visit to an ATM, just in case.
I got home, put dinner on, ate my dinner, paid the window-cleaner (good job I went to an ATM!), ended a cold-call from a telephone supplier and set about getting on with things, at which point I realised just how tired I felt after the week I'd had.
Have a good week (consider becoming a hermit!),
Tony
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