It has just been brought to my attention that it is in fact, half-term.
This means both of my darling offspring are apparently at home and in need of stimulating cultural activity with their excellent mother.
This means I must stop ignoring them whilst I languish in my study smoking fags and rattling away to you.
The second I remembered that I have children, I got straight on the internet to order theatre tickets for a family-friendly show tonight. I will not regret this decision at 7pm when I can’t be arsed to put on shoes.
Tomorrow I will seek out some excellent Halloween-themed half-term events alongside ten thousand other tired parents and their sprogs which will no doubt result in the bringing home of a very shit decorated mask that will shed a life-time of glitter all over the house.
On Friday I will turn the cleaning of the house and car into a magnificently joyful family occasion whereby eldest will be paid by the hour and youngest will be paid in hours of Minecraft while I storm about sweating and periodically yelping that surely the presence of a bin in each room of the house means that occasionally items of rubbish might find their way into them and also that glitter is now BANNED FOREVER.
On Saturday I will be drunk.
On Sunday I will be drunk.
I’ll see you Monday when normal service will resume…