Monday, 10 March 2008

Angela Carter, The Cheque's In The Post

It's raining and howling a gale when I awake so I wimp out of our planned 6am run around the pond, it would have been hellishly muddy anyway. L and Doggo go out alone to pound the streets.

At work I get the usual sort of Monday emails from L. She says she's not going to bother telling me how she is because its Monday, and Monday morning at that. So I suppose it should be obvious.

The big debate is how we're going to get Son to the barbers before skiing. Those two little words, 'hair' and 'cut', will send shivers down his spine. I'm not at all sure they'll let him on a plane as he looks nothing like the photo on his passport. Aren't you supposed to get a new one done if you drastically change your appearance? Such as developing hair half way down your back.

In the evening at dog class we do a course that's so wonderfully tough that we spend all night practicing a couple of short sections of it rather than the whole thing. The rest of the class will get to do the whole thing next week, whereas I'll be up a mountain somewhere.

As usual on the way home I collect L from yoga, except that I'm so late she's almost walked home by the time I do so.

L retires to bed early while I do some blogging. When I finally turn in it's quite late but she seems quite lively and it's obviously something to do with the fact that she's been reading 'Wise Children' again, of which I get the benefit despite the late hour. Angela Carter, the cheque's in the post.

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