I have finished tarting up scruffy telephone boxes. They are done. I am done. I never have to go there again in my life. The novelty of driving all the way to Lewisham and back every day has definitely worn off. I came home feeling all celebratory but Mr Smith was glued to some olympic sport and wouldn't be shifted so, feeling as exhausted as if I had just given birth, I had to cook dinner. The Best Boy then turned up from his film set with the second grip or someone, an enormous fellow of great charm who had come to spend the night. I had forgotten he was coming so had to quickly muck out the spare room which Secret Squirrel (Mr Smith) had been using as his nut store. Mr Smith came along to watch. I assumed he might help but he just got all shirty about his dinner and his fifth bag of games kit that he didn't want moved. I gave the Second Grip a duvet cover for his bed but it was as though I'd asked him to put up a tent in a storm. I helped. Mr Smith sat down to a lovely dinner .... five minutes late. He then watched his very tired wife pass out in front of some very cheaty water polo and went to bed and turned the lights off. This was not the bunting and cheer I had been expecting after my last day of work.
There are quite a few phone boxes I haven't done. I have just left them to the artists to come back and deal with. I am so looking forward to them finding out tomorrow. Exactly where is the silent button on my new phone?
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