Lat week was. 4 day week. This week is a 3 day week. Reason bing is that March, for me, is always a month where we desperately use up annual leave not taken.
Y’see I’m my fathers son. You never know. Why would I plan a real day off when I can just leave it 11 months and then go and spend the month doing the office Hokey Cokey- in out in out. Far more fun.
Friday was Bicester village outing day. Myself, Amy and a cast of 10 others headed on a minibus that had a look of the popemobile, with massive windows front to back. Slightly damp, and shocked at 5:30 alarm calls, we jumped aboard and headed off to Oxfordshire in search of bargains. Biggest disappointment was the lack of Mulberry dogwear. I was quite dejected about it all.
I had to spend through the slump. But I didn’t see much I loved, or that I thought was such a bargain that to deprive it a trip to Sheffield would have been akin to failing to let it achieve its destiny. Or something else that I tell myself when I want to buy something and need personal persuasion.
Eventually I headed off to Prada. There they were, the sunglasses I coveted last time but didn’t buy. I purchased. Not horribly expensive, but not cheap, but I’m excited about having some truly lovely sunglasses.
They did not, however, resemble these other Prada monstrosities.
You don’t realise how much trouble I could have got in for this snap. Apparently photos in store are forbidden. I’m sorry pretentious outlets, but what should be forbidden is your designers making some of these outfits, as I’m no Caryn Franklin or Anna Wintour but even I could see that those dogs weren’t going to hunt. A jacket like a glitter ball. A beret made out of the itchiest paper. All manner of shite.
I got a couple of vests for holiday.
And a t shirt. I got a t shirt for Pete. Sadly Daphne got nowt. Post Bicester, I’m shattered. My legs were like lead. I could barely energise myself to get out of bed. I did my usual trip to the park with the dog and to Waitrose. I was delved deeper into the doldrums by the fact it was damp, dank and miserable outside, I had to inject sunshine into my day by making Bombay potatoes, using up leeks and potatoes from the Riverford Organics box. It’s amazing how a good plate of carbs can hit the spot, spiced and warm and mightily fine.
I aso set about making a lemon meringue pie. Ignoring the fact that it needed to set for 6 hours, which was a bloody miserable discovery when I finally bothered to read on through the recipe. I also discovered I actually have a good set of baking insight now. I knew my lemons may be a tad juicy. I knew I may need to make the custard thicker, but I left it as per the recipe. I was right. It was a tad too loose. Next time, I’ll trust my prowess as a seasoned baker.
The dog was a right arse yesterday and jumped out the bath mid bathe, and got so much water all over the bathroom I thought for a moment I may find Shelley Winters, Red Buttons and Pamela Sue Martin wading through trying to find the engine room. ( I do enjoy a Poseidan Adventure reference). She was queer with me, but she stank to buggery and had rolled in a massive pile of muck that morning. It had to be done. Plus after that she snuggled up to me for most of the day. In between going ape shit when I put Mr Popper’s Penguins on. I don’t know what happened in the house in Frankley Beeches where she was born, but from then on this funny little cow hates Penguins to shit.
Right, that’s bout it for updates. Today was a hard one. 6 mile run, Body Attack and two pieces of pie. That’s how I roll. On the weight loss front, It ain’t happened due to fatigue carb addiction. Must try harder.
Any how, hope all is well chez vous. Blog later fine folks x
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