Friday, May 25, 2007

I have recently become fed up with the way this blog looks. I mean, white lettering on a black background. It's such a teenagery thing to do.

Actually, thinking about it, Writin mi Blog Like this wud B much more teenagery...

I may fiddle with the colours and other tweakeries over the next few days in lieu of anything interesting happening to me. At the moment all I seem to be doing is housework all day followed by a couple of hours in the evening woodworking at Mags and Simon's cottage - by the time I get there I am far too tired to be operating anything with sharp points, powerful electric motors, or both. After a day running around after Daisy and Holly trying to keep the peace, doing joinery is beyond me. Trying to remember which zapper does what on the TV is beyond me. I spent a very frustrating five minutes the other night trying to change channels with the DVD remote.

Today was a tough old day. Tonight for instance, at tea, Daisy was inconsolable, refused to eat anything for a good fifteen minutes and howled like I'd just shot her puppy in front of her and told her Father Christmas wasn't real - all because she couldn't get the fork she wanted. Holly was eating with it. After about ten minutes of constant crying and kicking I had managed to convince Daisy that going and asking Holly if she could have the "smiley" fork instead of just screaming "I want it! I want it! I want it!" over and over again might be a better way of getting a result. She went and asked Holly very nicely if she could have the fork. Holly said no. Daisy started screaming again. I kissed goodbye any chance of eating any hot food for the third night in a row and went and collected every possible fork I could find in the kitchen and laid them all out for Daisy. She eventually chose a blue one and started eating. thirty seconds later she was a happy smiling little girl again. The whole day seems to have been like that (it wasn't - but it felt like it). It's exhausting. It is so damn tiring having to negotiate or arbitrate about every single bloody thing, every damn minute of the day.

Merriol was home late from work after a whole load of meetings that went on longer than planned which lead on to things that needed doing on the spot, not later, and I'm afraid that when she turned up home, I just legged it out of the door .

Hello. Here's your tea. I'm off.

Off to the peace and quiet of a building site where I didn't have to spend ten minutes convincing bits of wood they wanted to be sawn up, and then having to let the saw horse choose which saw I used to saw them up because it liked the one with the yellow plastic handle better than the sharp one I was going to use. Semi-bliss.

Sorry Merriol.

Ilona sent me a mail today saying she has booked the hall for the panto in December and it would be good to see a copy of the first draft of the script "by June".

I don't know why I'm doing this script.

That's far funnier than anything than I've written so far...

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