Too much Information

Things are still explosive here, chez Boo.

I have now been generously given the stomach bug that Oscar inherited from school. I do not feel terribly ill I am glad to say, but it is rather imperative that I am never too far away from the comforts of a lavatory for the foreseeable future. We had to break our journey back from Tallulah’s math’s tutor with a pit stop at Sainsburys in order to attend to urgent matters that I would really rather not attend to in a Sainsburys or indeed anywhere but at home. Preferably while everyone else is out.

Why do public toilets echo so much?


On the other hand, in between galloping to the conveniences, Sainsburys, was extremely useful for buying Easter eggs, birthday presents for assorted children’s parties, non strangling underwear for Tallulah, tights without holes in, also for Tallulah and my birthday cakes. I say cakes because I wanted a coffee cake, but I am the only one who likes it, so there was also chocolate cake to be purchased. One of the joys of my own birthday is that I do not feel compelled to bake myself a cake. Nay, I reserve the right not to bake a cake and buy something instead. Not that if this continues I will be in any fit state to eat it. Whilst spending a casual hour in Sainsburys what with one thing and another, I also managed to stock up on wine boxes, which make excellent wrapping material, should you ever decide to EBay your entire life.

I do feel rather conspicuous pulling up on the drive surrounded by stacks of wine boxes. The neighbours’ nets twitch alarmingly. Last week when I brought home a car full the new next door neighbour popped over the fence, just as I was juggling and swearing with the boxes, to invite me, rather dubiously to her house warming at the weekend. The last time she saw me I was wrestling a bicycle and swearing. There is a theme emerging.

We were kind to her, and did not go to her house warming. I wonder if we had gone, if she would have expected me to turn up with half a dozen bottles of wine in tow?

The cat is having sympathy pangs with our yellow flag, plague status, and has thrown up three times this evening since we got home. The washing machine is whirring away. The Flash wipes have been used with an insensitivity to the environment that only those about to be engulfed in a tidal wave of effluvia can excuse, and there is an acrid tang of bleach in the air.

This happy day.

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