Ah the difference a good night's sleep and some fancy pants make. Felt much better on Sunday when I woke up, had a better night's sleep and put on some new undies and very nice they are - grey chiffon with little silver stars with a diamonte in the middle of each star, sweet.
So as I spread some Strawberry Bonne Mamman on my homemade bread I realised what a whingey pants I really am. what a lot of nonsense I must have been really grumpy. And what middle class woes - never mind how will I survive til next week with no pennies, or oh god, one of my relatives might not see Christmas what do I moan about, well I might as well have bloody well said my Chardonnay wasn't chilled enough boo hoo, I had to drink Earl Grey instead of Lapsong Souchong (mmm yum on all counts actually)
So no more whingeing about nothing. Came to realise, especially last night after having bad dreams and turning round twice to find he wasn't there, that I must be missing my boy. I really need a sounding board. I am doing a lot of talking to myself but then not a lot new there. This is quite a cathartic experience but even shouting at X Factor is not as much fun by yourself. Fun for one, don't think so.
So fast forward to Monday evening. Apart from plenty more work and the usual child chaos, I went to a meeting for the Dance School Committee and got put in charge of organising the night out - it's always me isn't it. Luckliy, my secret lazy weapon is that mum already did a lot of research for Alison's 40th in Feb and this is for the week before. Job done, nice one mum, El Mando the hero. Amy is becoming too attached to the monkey hat and I'm not really helping by not being more forceful about getting her to give it up. She does look very cute if a little bit simple.
The first Crimbly film of the year. Me and the kids sat down to watch Home Alone. They giggled a lot at the trailers in the menu screen but they didn't quite dig the whole "oh shit you mean your whole family just bugger off and forget about you and leave you with a giantic tarantula in the house, 2 scary bad men who want to harm you and an old man next door who you've been told is a serial killer" kinda vibe. Take note B movie directors. So it was ended before any of the funny kid gets revenge bits. I may try to introduce these later in the week.
Now to bath. Having finished 2 books today I am in a quandry about who should join me in the bath this evening along with The Script. It may be Peter Ho Davies (The Welsh Girl) or MC Beaton (Death of a Dustman). You decide, except you don't, I do. Speaking of which watched a brilliant bit on Breakfast News this morning about how there should be an X factor-y type vote for the new Poet Laureate. Can you imagine giving the viewers of Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women a vote? Jade Goody for Poet Laureate anyone? Goodnight.