5.15am alarm. Needless to say L doesn't react. Even Doggo doesn't raise an eyebrow, even he doesn't do this time of morning. I crawl out of bed and into the shower; I'm faced with a long trawl down to Maidstone this morning for work. Thankfully I'm not driving.
Three and a quarter hours is pretty good for the drive down and the meeting goes well as well. It's quite an amusing meeting too. There's a chap, I remember from last time, who most women would see as a rather obnoxious type because he's very quick with the crude comments and is all over the women. He's better behaved this time, no x-rated language, perhaps this is because the woman who he was stalking last time has now left. No connection of course. He's now working on another one. Watch out for those situations vacant ads.
Another 'good' three and a quarter hour trip home. Somehow my work colleague and I end up talking alcohol units. I work his out for him and I reckon he's around the 50 unit mark most weeks. He's shocked and appears to be thinking twice about the bottle of wine he was going to open tonight. I'm thrilled that he's practically doubling my units on a weekly basis; I think this could be a reason to celebrate and I consider having a glass of wine myself. After all I did make it under the magic 28 last week.
At home, L does curry and then we head off to bed, the three of us. The four-legged one is on seriously borrowed time. Doggo, in his advanced years, he's nearly seven, has started getting over intimate with the duvet. He never used to do this before. Jumpers and blankets, yes, but not duvets. It's incredibly inconvenient and off putting when you're trying to be intimate yourself.