At the End of the Day

Do you have days where time sweeps past and all the things that seemed possible at the beginning of the list have now piled into an untidy heap with nothing completed and some things not even started.

Today was such, Mondays mean a long morning with three sets of clients, at an hour and a half each, from 8.30 am.

Luckily, lunch was easy, left overs from the weekend supplemented by a monkfish casserole that MIL had prepared for yesterday, but we missed that course in the feast.

The afternoon was a blur of activity as the young'un decided to have a sleep out under the stars with his mates, suddenly the garden was unsuitable, the pool furniture needed rearranging, the cushions in the pergola shaking, that course in stage management was not wasted on Jack.

How intense the worries of a teenager can be, and how traumatic when the pizza delivery man cannot navigate his way through the rural hinterland and fails to deliver until the third attempt.

Lashings of citron based anti midgie cream and the noise of chatting went on until well after I had pulled the sheet over my head to block out the giggles from the girls and the breaking tenors of 16 year olds, as they bedded down in the pool area. One benefit of living here is that the vast majority of Jacks contemporaries don't drink alcohol, don't smoke and don't take drugs,..... yet.

The sky at dusk did not bode well for a starry clear night but the gods of youth were on duty and the night passed without a drenching.

Oh and somebody ran faster, jumped further, cycled quicker, or cheated better in that explosion of media hype where every red bloodied English male is whipped into a frenzy of xenophobia and groping journalists ask inane questions of weeping anorexics. you may gather I am not impressed by the Olympics, but will cease my moaning less I upset those that are fans.