Sour Grapes

What to do with a partner who gets up at the back of 5am to start his day?
It's not that he needs less sleep than the average person, so I leave you to do the maths.
We appear to live in parallel universes with his Lordship on the early shift.

Perhaps it's a case of sour grapes, because despite having good intentions of making it to the gym this morning before breakfast, the darkness, hardly touched by the harvest moon, which greeted me when my slumbers were rudely interrupted, put me off and before I knew it, I had turned over and forgotten about trying to keep fit.
There's always the thought that tomorrow morning will do, but I've been saying that every day for a month.

Now his Lordship has departed for a day in the hills, leaving me to my own devices , and I, a lady of relative leisure, having enjoyed some light dusting and cleaning, have got a social timetable in place which will be most enjoyable if not exactly energetic.
Isn't it a pity that chatting and socialising doesn't use up more calories?

Now as I type, I have one social gathering under my belt, and am about to become a Hungarian Millionairess when I collect my Forints, before connecting with my afternoon social calendar.

And with the sun shining out of a blue sky, it will be a pleasure to cycle via the canal to the erstwhile funeral parlour and take tea with my friends.