Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Day 16 and counting


Sixteen days to go. Time to get thinking about the wine (sorted really) and the glasses, not sorted at all. Trying to cost up  buying glasses in, hiring or using plastic ones. And wine never  tastes as good from a plastic glass.

Hotel has been confirmed, numbers firmed up on the speadsheet, coffee and tea numbers guessed at. Still considering how best to do the Pringles and try to avoid that juggling wine, crisp, handbag, not enough hands  thing. Bookmarks have been proofed, five other events confirmed and another interview done but can't recall who for. This was all supposed to be going on in the office in peaceful quiet.. then the builders turned up with a new front door. It then was as peaceful as Aleppo.

Builder, who has more or less lived in my house for the last four years, seemed to have lost weight. He normally looks like a hammer thrower. Now he looks like a slightly thinner hammer thrower. On enquiry he said that he was taking part in Strictly Come Dancing in aid of the local hospice.  My gp is doing that as well,  but he is built like, because he is...a half marathon runner. That is one duel I will pay money to see.  Big Daddy taking on Mo Farah in Strictly come Prancing!

The faithful PA and I were driven from our office  by the noise and the lack of electricity for the spreadsheet of wonder.  So we went in search of muffins and latte, taking solace in Lidl carpark to eat strawberry tarts, sneaking in and out of poundshops to look at disposable table ware. Such is the life of the rich and famous!
The builders were supposed to be looking after the pit bull as there was no front to close obviously. They promised they would but the hairy beastie came down the road to meet us when she heard the car engine. The pitbull had obviously been enjoying some free range terrorisation of local squirrels and continued the war of attrition with the Parsons jack russell down the road. The Parsons russell is the one that looks as though it is on stilts.

Did a biog for John Gordon Sinclair for the killer cookbook, and spent the rest of my time checking proofs, and answering another 45 emails.

The builders eventually left, without giving me a key for the door.

More tomorrow,


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