Month of Sundays

I am working six Sundays in a row. This is, on balance, a bad thing. I get a day off in the week but, pfft.

I was pretty impressed with my efforts this "weekend". I spent the whole of Friday night sifting through the slag heap that was my bedroom, putting away birthday presents, untangling headphones from biros from press releases from t-shirts, doing laundry (two loads!), dusting and finally, hoovering at ten past midnight. It's fucking spotless. The chi is practically babbling. I even managed to fake tan (and now I look like I've been creosoted).

I had the lie-in I've been looking forward to since September, spent the afternoon eating crisps and drinking wine with Dee, bagged myself a heap of her cast-offs, took the rest to the charity shop (thereby freeing up the chi in her bin cupboard), and had a lovely lasagne at home with flatmate Cally and my friend Amy. Got a few beers in, and went to bed at 1am. Usually by that point in the weekend I'd have just surfaced and be thinking about maybe having some toast.

Now I'm off to Sharon's for roast chicken and a look at the wedding pics. All in all, not such a disaster.