With the weather looking so promising towards the end of last week, I made a foolish mistake in deciding to take our feather duvet and pillows to the dry cleaner’s for ‘The Annual Clean’. I can only apologise for the subsequent weather. It wasn’t until we got back from the Money Pit (where duvets and pillows were not being cleaned) that I realised what a muppet I had been. DH and I ran straight upstairs and changed from shorts to tracky bums and four sweaters, put the heating on and made hot chocolate in a bid to get the feeling back in our extremities. Ordinarily we’d snuggle up and watch all the stuff recorded on Sky+ whilst we were gone, but even with WH curled around my feet I was still too cold to concentrate. And as it was raining with determination, I decided to entertain the dog, who was bored from being strapped in to the car for the last hour. Shortly afterwards the incident with the dog, the ball and the bedside table occurred, resulting in concussion. DH swaddled me in rugs, put on the electric blanket and left me trying to work out why there were two Luka‘s in every shot on ER.
As soon as it was open this morning, I made my way to the Dry Cleaner’s at the end of the road and begged to have the bedding back. Apparently they were behind schedule (not that surprising really when the man spelled the word pillows P-I-L-O-S on the ticket…) But after pleading, offering sexual favours and giving them my most pitifully desperate smile, I left with the promise of a delivery at around 6pm. In the meantime I am typing wearing my thickest and most fleecy clothing, two pairs of socks and am considering digging out gloves. Can you tell that June is just around the corner?
I’m gazing out of the study window as the wind knocks the trees about a bit and the clouds keep dumping their contents on the gardens. From here you can see the alley that runs into the road behind. You can see the men who are making yet more adjustments to one of our neigbours gardens. They are wearing t-shirts. I suppose men who work outside all the year round are hardened to weather such as this and don’t feel the cold when they are hard at work erecting fencing. The same doesn’t apply to the tweeny who just wandered along, presumably going to meet her mate outside TK Maxx, wearing the standard tweeny uniform of slouchy shoulder-bearing t-shirt, denim skirt and footless tights. She’s walking along in her ballet pumps with her arms tightly folded across her chest- I can only assume the purpose of this is to protect the little chest she has from causing serious damage to other pedestrians, because her nipples must be like bullets.
A parcel has just arrived, courtesy of UPS. I’ve got a feeling it’s some lovely new underwear I ordered from Figleaves. My hands are now so cold that I can prise open the box. Maybe if I do some ironing, they’ll thaw off.
