Friday is finally out-of-the-way, and I could hand in some shiny shiny copy that made me happy and sad at the same time, because now I have no excuse to be lazy. I can’t point to the pile on the desk and declare, loudly, that ‘I’m busy!’.
So, this evening, Mark came upstairs, put his hand on his hips like he does when he’s fed up and wants to be firm and decisive and told us we were going shopping because there was nothing in the house. Our cupboards were bare as Bilbo’s after a dwarven visit.
Five bags of groceries later, our cupboards are bulging, and it seems half of the stuff in them are junk food of some kind or another. So, I’m eating a carrot to ease my guilty conscience. I may eat another one to reinforce the point.
We are ready to lock the doors, and let the neighbours and friends think that we bolted for somewhere warmer and more southern for the weekend because the last month or so has been all about being social and being friendly and meeting people. That’s really not us, so we’re going to stay put here and not do a thing all weekend.
Neither of us have anything on Monday either, so it’s a long weekend. So, it’s good that we bought all that junk food because I bet that plenty of films will be consumed under the blanket in the lounge in the dark evenings. And you know? That’s going to be all good.