Only one day, actually only 12 hours, til Mrs Smith can once again eat chocolate after her Lenten vigil. I am thinking Easter Day officially should start at midnight ... So, if I stay up late enough I could get an early start on the chocky eggs. Only slight problem is I am not absolutely certain Mr Smith has bought me an egg. When I was last having a super snoop I didn't find any Easter eggs. Mr Smith can be a bit sneaky like that. I remember when I was little my grandmother showing me her real Faberge egg and feeling so sorry for her not getting a chocolate one. What a bummer only rubbish diamonds, no flake or curlywurly.
Dr Who is back. Didn't understand a word. Well, I did but it's a bit deeply difficult. Saturday night just wouldn't be complete without some seriously awful telly and Britain's Got No Talent certainly fits the bill. Oh happy me ... just a tadge of chocolate and I'd be in heaven.
We have Mrs Smith, mother of Mr Smith, staying with us for Easter. I arranged to meet her at the British Museum in "the shop". What I didn't know is they had left no retail opportunity unexplored and there were many shops, positive malls, selling Egyptian Mummy ovengloves and Rosetta Stone umbrellas. By some miracle, I bought neither. I eventually found her near Aztec mousemats. I brought her home for Mr Smith to be horrid to, as a change from me. He gets all moody and spoilt when his Mumsie comes to stay - a bit of a big fat princess of a man really. He left me in Homebase car park this afternoon. Yup, he just drove off with his mother trying to leap out of a moving car in order to save me. Ah, but I know Mr Smith would never really leave me - not like I will him if there isn't serious chocolate set before me tomorrow.
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