The effect of the clocks changing was mainly to stop me sleeping at all. I woke at 12.20 am, went to sleep sometime around 4.30, three hours later, and dozed for ten minutes at a time until 6.30 when the alarm went off. So damn.
Apologies for no post yesterday, but I had an early night. And I slept very well. And I cracked, at least for the night, the way to get back to sleep. I counted party guests. Badly. I started to tot them up – started on the south coast – well, there was Phil and Lisa, moving up a bit there is Tim, there’s Mig, up to Mike and Ann – I kept counting, then realised I’d left out Pixie Mum and Ian – ooh, I must add them … add them to what?
I’d forgotten the number. So I started again. Then – ooh, how could I forget to add Rog and Mrs Rine? – add them to … oh bugger. Start again. I know, I’ll start from Norwich, Roses and Lawrence, keep going south … I lost count again. And that wasn’t even including the people who would like to come but haven’t confirmed yet. I shall write them all down.
However, the thing is that, even as I was chuckling over my inability to remember what I’d counted up to, I was falling asleep again. So these various tickings-off were not all happening at the same awakening, they were each an hour or two apart. Quite ludicrous.
I had a busy morning – a document that had to be combined from 25 other documents and I can’t bear to relive it all – suffice to say that I hadn’t finished by 1.30 when I had to go out, so it wasn’t sent off until the early evening. So much seems to happen on a Monday morning – first Wendy, my governors’ clerk, noticed something had been left off a document and it took several emails for it to be sorted out, then I received more emails and a whole lot of phone calls, most of which were for the Sage and I had to leave my desk to go and find him, then Jamie wanted to know how many trenches to dig for asparagus crowns, how deep etc, then the fishmonger called. And then it seemed to make sense to plant the asparagus straight away, so I had to go and haul my muddy jeans out of the washing basket and put them on to do that, because I was wearing Good Clothes – ooh, by the way, there is good news in that I’d sort of grown out of those jeans (and I couldn’t buy more because I’ve a strict size limit for wearing jeans and if I’m any bigger I don’t wear them) and I’ve shrunk back into them.
And I’ve just looked around and the Sage has brought me a snifter of whisky. Or does it have to be brandy for a snifter? A dram, then. Cheers, everybody, cheers!
Ooh, I told the tequila joke to the Head this afternoon. He thought it was very funny too.