He's out

Mr Smith is playing golf all day in Kent.  This is blissikins, heaven, my home to myself, my life to myself, no monitoring for a whole day.  Tempting though it is to stay in bed all day reading the paper and enjoying little naps, he will be back this evening and I can't face a "Nothing's done; what have you been doing all day,  lounging in bed as usual?"  Oh, I don't know, it's almost worth it.  

The Best Boy's trip to a film festival in Poland hasn't got off to a great start as the girlfriend was ill and had to get off the plane at Stansted.  She has a stomach ulcer and shouldn't have gone abroad in the first place let alone expect the idiot BB to look after her.  I do feel sorry for her but she isn't much fun always being ill.  So he's on his own in a foreign country trying to figure out zlotys and where to get a beer.  I think he met some other people attending the same film festival on the plane and they will look after him.  He does 'pathetically incapable' quite well.

I am desperately endeavouring to get my calendar cupcakes made.  January is looking good but all other months are going hideously wrong and we are drowning in hideous cupcakes.  October's pumpkin is mighty tricky and I am going to have to cancel December altogether.  I am hoping our church might be having a Christmas Fair where I can offload some of the excess.  They don't look all that edible!

I have a headache, a dog to walk, a load of shopping to do and a dinner party.  I thought an afternoon with a bit of knitting in front of Corrie catch-up would be just the thing.  Well, if I buzz about like a mad thing all morning I might manage it.  Mr Smith isn't here to monitor me after all.