The rest of the family are sitting in the lounge, watching “The Polar Express”. I’m sitting in the study (read:junk room) writing this. I’ve just finished the cheap bottle of Sherry I bought from the supermarket last weekend, and eaten two rows off the gargantuan bar of Dairy Milk that the garage was selling a few days ago. I’m not quite sure how their “offers” happen - occasionally they have a box full of massive chocolate bars by the counter, at half price or less. I’ve never bought one before - which also explains why I still have some teeth.
I’ve left the chocolate bar in the lounge - I don’t expect to find any by the time the movie finishes. I might have to peel the kids off the ceiling.
I’m tired. Properly tired. As soon as I’ve finished writing this I might sneak off to bed and read a book. I’ve got a huge pile of books on my bedside table - mostly bought in recent months while walking past book shops. Actually, that’s wrong, isn’t it - I didn’t “walk past”. One cannot simply “walk past” a bookshop - not if it’s open. I’ve taken to avoiding the entire street where the bookshop is, to avoid getting myself into debt, or to avoid the book mountain falling on me in the middle of the night.
Imagine trying to explain on a life insurance claim that a pile of un-read books fell on you.
I’ve been informed that I’m escorting my younger daughters into town tomorrow - to acquire coffee shop gift cards for teachers. Rather than buy their school teachers chocolates, they are getting them vouchers for coffee at the local coffee shop. This of course means we will be in the coffee shop - which works just like a book shop - if you go in, you kind of have to buy a coffee, and a piece of flapjack, then sit for an hour people watching. I’m pretty sure it’s all compulsory.
Perhaps I’ll go make a hot drink now - a night cap. I wonder why they call drinks “night caps” ? It’s not like you’re going to wear the drink on your head, is it.