Thursday, 2 June 2011

Productive

This morning I got to work twenty minutes late to discover that the five year old boy, who is the only child I have on a Wednesday morning, wasn't there. He was at school for Some Reason, even though his school isn't open on Wednesdays.

It is just like last Monday lunch time, when I dragged myself out of bed after only two hours of sleep, a lot of alcohol and a 'scallop wrap' purchased from the boot of a man's car outside Showcase. I stumbled to his school and waited for him for half an hour. When I rang the mum to ask if everything was ok, she told me that the five year old boy had 'gone away' for the week. I thought 'Where has he gone, Tenerife?' and I pictured him in his blue plastic sunglasses, sipping pina coladas round the pool, reclining on a sunlounger in his Thomas the Tank Engine trunks. (Turns out he had gone on holiday with his school for a week, which still seems strange to me, at just five years old.)

Anyway, I had the whole morning to myself and a lot of stupid, shit little jobs to do that I can't be bothered with: 'pack away winter clothes', 'fit more clothes in this overflowing, exploding box please' 'hang up wet washing' ''make sure white jeans and favourite pink shirt are washed and dried and ready for ironing lady, even though she arrives in twenty minutes...' SHIT- I've just realised I have left said 'favourite pink shirt' hanging outside on the balcony, and they have gone away until Sunday night... So let's assume that by then it will have been heavily rained on, attracted lots of little, sticky bugs and been shat on by birds.

I have a done a lot of shit things today. After work I was supposed to go round to my friend Clare's for tea, or 'supper' as she calls it for Some Reason. I fell asleep and woke up an hour after I said I would be there. Then I stood on my GHDs (they were hiding under a cushion) and they snapped in half. I am trying not to dwell on that.

When I finally made it to Clare's, I spilt red wine all over her couch, all over me and all over Kayt. The general consensus seemed to be to 'Soak them!' so I whipped off my dress and cardigan and put them in Clare's, sink full of water. After whiling away an amusing half hour dancing around Clare's room pretending to be a mime artist, the time came to go home so I had to borrow some clothes and I left my wet clothes floating in her sink. Yet she still decided to lend me 100 euros. Am I the worst house guest ever? As I left Clare said to me 'You're a tosser', but I think she meant it in a loving way.

I hope the next two days are more productive...

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