Friday night. January.
I got out of bed to heat up a sticky toffee pudding and then got right back in. Here I lie in my jimmyjamas. It isn’t nine yet. I am going to sleep and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Just got to write a few words first.
Invigilating today. A slow and thoughtful exam, lots of relaxed people doing difficult sums. I just make sure they have a chilled out room, and that they all have the things they need. Then I send an invoice. It’s more about that part of the process than anything else to be honest. I’ve been back on eBay trying to declutter and improve my cashflow at the same time. I’ll throw in some shifts helping the future entrepreneurs of this world.
I’m happy to be in bed early on a night like this. I’m done with January and it seems January is done with us. Onwards towards Candlemas now and the climb back to the light. I want to go on holiday. Money money money. For now I’ll just flog things flog things flog things, do the invigilation, live life.
I’m feeling the cold, and I’m still empathing into jetlag hours with Brian and Maddy, plus I’ve caught their cold. I’m totally unconcerned about losing Friday night. Twelve years ago I was proudly #LOFNOTC. Parties happen when they happen, they don’t have to be Friday. This one is certainly not a party, despite what the people on the river boats seem to think.
Maybe I’ll get out of bed one more time, make chamomile and wash my teeth. Fill up water. Fuck around with Boo. Back in bed by half nine. The ghost of Marianne Faithfull would understand that we can’t always be rock and roll. I’m spent and I’ve done very little. Extra rest will make me better tomorrow, aye? The sooner I’m over this cold the better.
AlBarclay 