Saturday night was golf club dinner. So dreary. Mr Smith, you owe me big time. I sat next to a frightful little man who bored the pants off me. His girlfriend was obviously having an affair with the man sitting next to her whose wife didn't look too chuffed. Oh pass the mashing niblicks. I was not entirely sober by the end of the evening.
On Sunday with a slight hangover I went for a walk beside a canal from Kent to Sussex. It looked fine on the map with a nice public footpath but in reality it was all nettles and thistles and tall grass with a tiny track through it where one spindly man and his narrow dog had once walked. I needed a scythe. I ached by the time I got to Rye. It was a long walk. I was very grateful of the welcoming tea shop at 4 by which time they had run out of scones so no cream tea for me. I had a rather hard piece of cake. I bought a big clock from a junk shop to cheer myself up and waited for Mr Smith to collect me.
Yesterday I took my baby boy shopping as he is having his wisdom teeth out today and will need soft food and cosseting for a few days. I came home and ate almost all the shopping. Oh dear. I feel very fat .... But secretly happy and full. I am pissed off that the dentist thinks it's ok to do this operation in the chair. I think he should be in hospital with proper nursing. Florence here is not really up to the task. I wonder if I should wear a uniform? Mr Smith said he could get me one in a uniform suppliers called Ann Summers. I think I will be ok without.
I don't think I will make it to belly dancing tonight with small Smith's teeth, or lack of, and Mr Smith's dinner to cook and the plumber dropping by and my life to live. Oh well, I see it as something else at which I will be rubbish. My arms are too fat. I shall make scones.
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