So much for selling my flat. The man who was going to buy it isn't now because it's too expensive. Have you seen the view? It's not a cheap flat. It's very smart. So I have priced myself out of the market. Oh dear. Oh well, I'll put on my best selling hat and go down there next week and see how the land lies. Maybe I ought to wear a sandwich board bearing the details to the pub and through the village. Oh no, they might think it's me who is for sale!
It snowed again in the night. It's not huge snow, just enough to be inconvenient. My commute to work is luckily only 50 paces to the end of the garden. Mr Smith takes the bus all the way to the West End which is a long and tedious journey. He comes back cold and tired and usually hungry. Actually, so do I.
I'm finding cooking for four every night a mighty task. It might be time to spend a weekend stocking the freezer or getting rid of the kids. Perhaps we could eat them. It must be time for Supermarketman to go hunting again. I'll write him a list. The golf course will be closed as it's covered in snow and he wouldn't be able to see the ball. Oh good.
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