Eggs is eggs ... Well, they were.

I ate too much and I might explode.  Stand well back.  Mr Smith did this really weird thing; he made Yorkshire pudding with roast pork.  Oh no no no what does he think he is doing, turning our dining room into a Toby Carvery?  I despair between Yorkshire puddings sky risen and perfect, slopping with gravy, piled upon the fork and rammed into gob.  Oh divinity sublimity.  And crackling.

Alexander and I then ate all the Easter eggs bought for the Easter egg hunt on Easter Monday.  We didn't think much of Daim but we liked all the others - must get more.

I am in the final throws of Caribbean painting.  I hate this painting.  I hate his house. I hate his pets and I hate him.  Well, actually I quite like him but he wants to see his painting and I haven't finished it.  Today should be the last day and I would do it but I have to write a list of ways to lose weight without leaving your bed.  I have got stuck at don't eat anything.  I then have to watch the carpenter bodge up more doors.  I may even take some exercise.  I will start another diet ... It's Monday.  I will eat only super foods whatever they are.  I will get out of bed.  I will paint.

A pound of flesh

The doorman is still bodging away costing us a fortune as he is so damned slow.  In fact Mr Smith was rather cross about it all and brought his anger with him on our shopping trip on Friday.  He got all crotchety in Poundland, dumping the basket in the middle of the aisle then coming to tell me my shopping was causing an obstruction.  I have to admit Poundland is perhaps not the place to go in the Easter holidays where unwashed small children steal mountains of cheap chocolate whilst their single parents ignore them.  It was loud and revolting.  However 24 scouring pads for a pound - wow.  Mr Smith bought two fly swats.  Beware flies he's in a mood.

Mr Smith golfs, I paint.  Mr Smith is getting rather good at golf, winning things which is very bad for him.  I am being chased by my client wanting to see a photograph of his painting.  But I haven't done it!  My lies will become inventive. I told him I just have to put in his car and his dog when in reality I have only just started and the thing is a total mess.  I can come up with non working camera and broken computer yet.  Anyway he doesn't want it til 26th April which is Ages yet.

Well better go and spread paint around.

On the other hand my procrastinating patchwork is coming along nicely.

I have a cold.  This makes the painting far harder work.

Doorman

An irritating man has come to mend our door.  It is worse than before now.  I wanted him to fix it then we could appraise his work and see if we wanted him to do some other things but Mr Smith decided to march him round the house showing him every last little carpentry need so he has now got several jobs on the go - all bodge ups.  I am quite cross.

I am hungry.  Maybe it's my diet working.  I have now lost a stone since February.  I feel I just have two more pounds to go then I am ready to start stone number two in earnest.

Yesterday I walked to Dymchurch and back.  20k steps registered on my dear little Fitbit. Why are people so aghast? It's only about an hour's walk and there is a lovely tea shop there that I just managed to still catch open and ram down a piece of scrumptious marmelade cake.  Though actually I like the tea shop here better.  The walk back was performed a bit more best foot forward so it was exactly an hour.  In the days of the costume drama everyone walked many a mile and Larkrise was eight miles from Candleford and Laura didn't have a horse.

I am painting.  It's coming along slowly.  I have decided two good hours are better than five rubbish ones so I commit myself to just two hours a day.  Any more is an added bonus.  Finished Bridget Jones Mad about the boy and sobbed throughout.  I now need another talking book.  They calm me down and make me paint nicely.  Painting needs to be done by 20th April which is probably a Sunday.  I then need to courier it to the client in Southampton.  It will be done.

My mother and other poisonous creatures

Having been summoned to the aid of the party by my mother with threats of refusing to look after my ailing father in a display of her usual selfishness, when I got there I actually found a woman who was very afraid of the future and man who was slightly losing the plot.  He is about 95% ok but there are gaps.  He is old and not terribly mobile, a bit deaf with memory lapses.  She is intolerant and doesn't like to be inconvenienced.  She is making some positive steps such as getting a psychologist to have a look at him though it is her who is certifiably insane.  She also calmed down when I was there and stopped being a total cow for about 5 minutes but she is not a particularly practical person making everything much harder work than necessary and bombarding my father with too much in one go.  She is so impatient and aggressive.  There was a lovely bit when she got locked out of the flat and we didn't hear the bell.  Her fault for forgetting her keys.  We had about half an hour of peace during which we cleared out some old files.  She is convinced we ignored the bell on purpose.  We were not particularly impressed when she got a chair and came to watch.  God she was annoying!

Anyway, I have done my daughterly duty and she will not dare to call upon me again in a hurry.  Phew!

My client emailed me giving me a date for the painting.  Hooray, deadline set.  I will get on with it now and with my mother out of the way I can be uninterrupted for two weeks and bash it out.  

Nodless

I am having a little problem in the sleep department.  I wake up very very early which makes me very tired at night so I go to bed absolutely shattered at 9pm then wake up very early or at repeated intervals through the night.  Last night I woke at 11pm ready to start my day ....before it had even become the next day.  That was my best yet.

I am also totally knackered all day.  I think a late night is required to break this dreadful cycle.

And then, of course, there is Mr Smith's dreadful snoring, gloating sleepy noises emphasising his perfect night's sleep and keeping me awake.

I am tired.  And crotchety.  I want to sleep through at least one whole night. 

There's no place like home

I don't like single beds or being mikes away from a bathroom.

I like my bed.

I am happy even if Mr Smith occupies the other side.

I am so dreading tomorrow.  I really dislike my mother intensely.  I know one shouldn't but she really is horrible.  She is a bully.  She doesn't want to look after my father because she is so selfish.  I want to fling her off the nearest cliff.  Why can't she just be nice?  I am so kind and lovely to my family.  It doesn't hurt to be kind.  I am being horrible to her giving her a taste of her own medicine.  She has to learn.  I am not just at her beck and call.... Oh but I am.

So tomorrow I am going all the way to London by train to empty one little cupboard because she can't inconvenience herself to help my father.  She is so mean.

I will do voodoo.  I wonder if it works.