Goodness, it’s Tuesday, is the phrase of today. We have reached the total sensory disintegration part of the holidays in which I try to ease back into some sort of vague routine so that the horrors of the new academic year won’t send me screaming for the gin bottle too soon, but it is all very hard and I am more rubbish than ever at it.
It’s all very well to try and do this if you have any idea at all of a) what the hell you started to do before you got utterly side tracked by staring at clouds or eating at biscuits or talking about zombie apocalypses with your children and b) what the day/time/month is. According to Oscar’s reading record I lost about two days last week, which was a surprise to us all, as the week seemed incredibly full anyway.
So far today I have done some completely useless shopping in which I bought an overlarge robe, a dressing gown and a scarf, none of which I needed. I bought no food or anything of any use to anyone.
I have made opticians appointments for Oscar and Tallulah, although whether we’ll actually get to the eye tests on the right day at the right time is anyone’s guess as I failed to take both my phone and my diary when I went to book the appointments and cannot now remember anything about them, except that they are some time next week. Maybe.
I have wandered around all day with panda eyes, forgetting that Tallulah practised make up on me last night and I was too tired to take it off. It was only when Jason got home from work and asked me who had hit me that I realised why people had been so kind to me all day.
I am a battered wife and I didn’t even know it.
I have discovered Greggs’ rock cakes. The children were starving and I bought them a sandwich each, and me a rock cake. It was 55p and the approximate size of a small moon orbiting Saturn. It actually tasted amazingly good, and I will be going back for more. Tallulah swears by a Greggs’ chicken bake. I am not convinced. The rock cakes win hands down.
I have made some dinner. It is whatever we had in the fridge that was beginning to go a bit funny, paired with whatever we had in the freezer which looked like it might not kill us. I am not at my culinary best these days. My heart isn’t in it. I am in one of those moods where I am waiting for the magic food fairy to wave her wand, so that someone will pop by with a hostess trolley and feed me with dainty morsels. Having to actually think about what to cook and then cook it is a gigantic ball ache I could live without. I know very well that if I lived alone I would be subsisting on Greggs’ rock cakes and Jacobs Creek Shiraz by now.
Would that be such a bad thing?
I think not.
My house is a gigantic mess. There are tides of gold glitter in the bath from the last time one of us used a Lush bath bomb. Derek keeps presenting me with feathers. I hope they are random, individual feathers that she has found in the garden. I suspect they may be the mouldering corpse of a pigeon she has secreted somewhere about the house we have yet to find. This week I have vague plans to clean things. I use the word clean euphemistically. Something more along the industrial line would be apt. I just can’t think what it would be.
I have taken Oscar to his maths tuition. This involves hanging around Sainsburys’ for an hour and a quarter going out of my mind. I have managed to find a seat that is not in the most depressing cafe in the world, and mostly hunker down reading my book, but it is still depressing, and it happens twice a week. I still don’t have anything edible in my kitchen and there is absolutely no excuse when I spend two and a half hours lounging around Sainsburys’. It is so boring though that I simply refuse to buy anything except gel pens and terrible CD compilations. A small rebellion, but my own.
The car sort of broke down today, which was quite exciting for about half an hour. On the way back from the shops we had the windows open in a futile attempt to persuade ourselves that it was still summer. When we got home, the front passenger seat window would not shut itself.
I had a small panic, then abandoned the car and went inside to eat a rock cake to give myself the strength to carry on. After this I texted Jason to confess that I had killed the car in some inexplicable way. He texted me back to say: ‘Have you tried turning it off and turning it on again?’ I had only done 50% of that equation, so I staggered outside, sweeping crumbs from my bosom, and did the other 50%. It worked, and I found out I am actually married to Roy from the IT Crowd.
Which is nice.