I went to the sea on Friday with a dog, a boy and a headache which just never went away. It was not so much a long weekend as an interminable weekend. I came back this morning quite pleased to be back in the gritty city, not that a South West London suburb is wholly gritty but it has a familiarity about it and doesn't tick the charming box in the way that the Witterings does. As you may have suspected, I am in a bit of an ugly mood. I want to step on ants and crush things despite going to PE this morning.
Mr Smith joined us on Saturday whereupon it clouded over. We went to Portsmouth on Sunday morning and failed to see the Ark Royal. Well I caught a glimpse of a mast or something from the car window - it was battleship grey. By the time I looked I'd missed most of it. At Gunwharf Mr Smith bought a pair of bright orange trousers for golf - all he needs is a green top and he can go as a carrot. I didn't buy anything. Was I ill? Probably.
Time to be less mouldy; I'll walk the dog on Wimbledon Common and look for ants. How many days til my holiday? About 8 I think. I will tick them off and think at least one tropical thought every day.
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