It’s all got a bit busy this evening and I’m distracted. It wasn’t helpful that I woke up at 2.30 this morning, worried about pears. Doyenne du Comice pears, which I had assured Al I’d got in stock (English ones, from Kent). but that I then worriedly realised I’d confused with Beurre Hardy pears, which a Local had brought in from her tree. I finally got up at 2.50 and rang the wholesalers to order them. Even more dismally, I remembered the phone number. I hardly ever remember phone numbers. I then twitchily (not least because I was starkers and it wasn’t that warm) read a few blog posts, left a few comments and then returned to bed, where the Sage, with astonishing politeness, put his arms round me to warm me up. I still didn’t sleep for another couple of hours though and, sadly, this was not because of canoodling but because I couldn’t relax.
The Sage is off to London tomorrow morning and I have got a meeting in the wilds of Norfolk, so I have to look up the route because we only have tiny winding country roads round here and jovial bumpkins spend their spare time turning the roadsigns round so that we drive the wrong way. I’m picking up my lovely and darling friend Bette at ten past nine and she lives twenty-five minutes away. This is an early start for me – yeah, yeah, I’m spoilt. I’ve never denied it.
Ro went for an interview for a new job, was offered and accepted it, and tomorrow has to tell his boss. He’s not looking forward to that. The good thing is that the new job is in Norwich and it looks as if the bus is the best way to get there, which will please Ro. He does not like frantic drivers on their daily commute. He’ll have to leave home earlier, but at least he can veg on the bus.
I can’t concentrate. I need to do some work. Can I rely on another sleepless night? Probably. Bother.