Major miracle alert. Made it through to the third Sunday of Lent without smoking. Feeling ever so slightly smug.
Haven't blogged for a few days. Would love to say due to wild partying and general galavanting. Sadly, spent past three evenings sofa snoozing. The tabs for 'general well being' have generally left me being not quite so well. According to the great teller of medical truths, the Internet, when you take iron at the same time as thyroxine, as I have been, they cancel each other out. General tiredness therefore rules OK. Heigh ho, all bad things must come to an end. At least no more morning horse tabs for me.
My resolve to get out more – if only for the sake of the blog – took me to the west end on Friday. Arranged to meet my old pal, The Producer, to run round a gallery. How very cultural (and unlike me). But the sun was shining and after such a long dull winter, who can resist that feeling of warm sun on your face? So we had frothy alfresco instead. So pleased that after knowing each other for nearly 20 years age has not withered us – well not our tongues anyway. Did animated yackety yacking non-stop for more than three hours. Came away wondering why it's been so long. Oh yeah I remember. The small matter of my life not being my own.
Paid the price for an interesting Friday, by spending Saturday in Tescos. That was after I'd not resolved the issue of the mislaid bank card. I know it is in that big box of lost items in Morrisons. That's where it always is when not in my purse. Not that I have much previous for this. I haven't been anywhere else. Except the post office, and have already checked their box (surprisingly large number of spectacles this week). Despite this being a regular routine, and despite being married for a decade and a half, do try to keep this aspect of me behind the back of He-who-must-be-adored. For some reason I forgot this time. Lucikly I had Barclays lost and stolen pre-recorded option list to shush his lecture on how many years He has held a bank card, without loss.
Supersis came to the rescue, as ever, inviting us over for Saturday night supper. Delighted we accepted. When she called back half an hour later saying, she couldn't actually be bothered to cook, and had booked a table halfway between me and she, He couldn't get to grips with what sort of invitation was that? Perhaps it's because we're related but I couldn't see the prob. Great overindulgent time had by all. Think He-who-must-be-adored and Mr Pacing-with-fag/fone enjoyed themselves. It is not easy to determine as they spent most of the evening outside. Smoking.
Oh the smugness of me.