We've got the builders in. We had the builders in while I was away. I am now back at home. It's been 4 hours since the promptest of electricians arrived and already I have despatched the kids to my friend's house and I have decamped to my neighbour who is currently admiring giraffes and other non-British wildlife.
I wish I'd stayed in France another week. I was almost starting to feel human again after 6 full days of TLC and general lazing about. It was hot, I swam every morning and I didn't have to cook - what's not to like? Nothing, that's what. I don't have to cook here but that's because the Rayburn doesn't appear to be connected to its workings for some reason. It isn't, however, quite the same.
I have become a chronic worrier. I'm worried about the noise, the vans parked outside at jaunty angles, the random crashes and whining saws. I can feel myself fizzing with anxiety. I feel better now I'm in front of a keyboard. I think I need to do a little restorative surfing to steel myself for a return to the kitchen.
Our builders, however, are lovely and charming. Yes, I said charming. They are unfailingly funny and polite. We are blessed with the builders but, from my point of view, decidedly cursed with the building and the decorating and the fixing and the banging. It makes me shudder. I do not know how we did it twice before.
I was unable to enter this year's show despite having 4 photos, a scarf and a pair of socks to show off. We were stuck in traffic around Bristol and I missed the deadline. I was disappointed, especially as there weren't too many entries and I might have got another certificate. The same lady who won the cup last year won it this year. Maybe next year I could give her run for her money.
Since travelling from France we also took a family trip to Londinium. The beloved and the offspring went to Wembley, I went to Tate Modern to see the Cy Twombly exhibition. Now, there's a painter if ever I saw one. I also discovered a discount art shop on my long walk to Leicester Square and managed to get my random, yet good value purchases back up to Queensbury on the Jubilee Line.
I felt like an art bulimic. By the time I'd been around the Tate, had a shop browse, looked at some other stuff at the South Bank and bought supplies, I never wanted to see a paint brush again.