Stars in their Eyes

One of those days when you wake up and your mind stumbles over everything you have to pull off at work, the anxiousness over certain discussions and encounters you have to have, back to back meetings you have to lead, or be on top form for, mexican standoffs you have to diffuse if not head off from developing, keeping everyone on board, keeping managers sweet and direct reports happy.

Then you come out the other end, late into the evening, walking like a stupefied zombie to the car, thinking holy crap I didn't think I'd come out the other side in one piece, but at the same time bemused that your abiding memory of the day is when you encountered an elderly gentlemen that kept shouting the word "Pish!", really loudly, over and over at some hand baskets in the local shop. Or perhaps it was the moment of my overexertion and phallic like action of desheathing some newly delivered banners from their plastic wrapping, much to the amusement of my colleagues.

And then the phone call on route to the car, sports day, "we need to wear green clothes for our team tomorrow", 'Course you do, so it's home via two cheap supermarkets to bag the green necessities, (no sign of shouty Pish! man), then home to sprogs to deconstruct their day beyond their usual 'fine', and rounded off by a surreal discussion about Sam's theory why the tooth fairy ain't real, to do with dimensions of wingspan compared to weight of body apparently, I gave my stock answer, "It's magic".

Tonight Mathew, I will mostly be being a 40 year old lady drinking a fine big glass of wine.