As I limp towards the weekend, I'm surprised to have reached this stage without a) killing myself b) killing someone else c) being escorted off the premises by the men in white coats or, my own particular favourite, d) running away to join the circus.
Son number two is back from university and he brings his own work load to add to my already over subscribed pre-Christmas list of 'Stuff To Do'. I can cope with every aspect of the pre-Christmas planning, but lump them all together and I tip....
Let me tell you tipped me over yesterday. The straw, as it were....
Son number two loves his pants. He loves them so much, that it is not unheard of for him to wear four pairs in a day. Now, these are not small pants. These are pants which can block out the sun when hung on the line. The type of pants which could double up as a spinnaker sail in an emergency and which could house a small family of rodents (I hope that the Christmas tree mouse doesn't start squatting in a pair - hiding nuts might take on a whole new meaning).
As it's winter, my washing is now all hung up on an overhead airer which, through means of ropes and pulleys, hoists the washing up to dry (unless son number one gets anywhere near it, in which case, it stays at head bumping height as he can't be bothered to take it all the way up).
Anyway, unloading the washing machine again yesterday morning, I pulled out pair after pair of pants. The airer was full of them, and there was no room for my one sweater, which is draped over a kitchen chair as I write).
Taking them off the airer last night, I said to son number two, who was hovering around the fridge looking for anything, and I mean anything, to eat.
'You are not allowed to wear any more pants this week', I said. 'I'm fed up with looking at them'.
I'm not going to tell you what his response was, as you're probably eating your breakfast, but needless to say, I am going to be washing those pants for at least another three weeks, until I can ease him out of the front door and back to Leeds (Vaseline and a large bar of chocolate on the drive should swing it).
I also did double bubble at Binland yesterday, finally crawling out of the door after 5.00. Why everyone wants to talk rubbish with me the week before Christmas is anyone's guess, but there was one giggle moment, around 4.17....
Me 'Can I take your surname please?'
Customer 'It's Shearer'.
Me 'Oh, like Alan Shearer?'
Customer 'Exactly like Alan Shearer. Just with a bit more hair'.
Me 'Let's face it, a snooker ball has more hair than Alan Shearer'
How we laughed.
A tad too hysterically if I'm honest...