I have been offered an unexpected job this week, with Friday as the deadline. This is good for the coffer, but not for the blogger. I actually had to temporarily disconnect the internet today so as to force myself to finish the job. That is how terribly addicted I am to you all. Shocking.
So I must now quickly list everything I meant to tell you, and which I have almost forgotten already:
My local supermarket burnt down last week. It was apparently done by a couple of teenagers, which is most surprising as I always expected it to be done by a 39-year-old housewife with a bad case of PMT. Thing is...I keep forgetting that it has burnt down, and so I still drive to that damned shopping centre and then stand outside the blackened shell of the supermarket and stare blankly at it. I have done this three times already. My daughter wrote at the top of the shopping list today "DO NOT GO TO BURNT-OUT SUPERMARKET", and it worked. I had to go to the other shopping centre, which Colours likes to call "The Death Star".
My neighbours have nannies. The neighbours on the right have a British nanny who cares for their two toddlers from 7:30am to 6:30pm. The neighbours on the left have a Greek nanny who cares for two school-aged children; she cooks flavoursome and wholesome meals for them while they are at school. It really shits me to see them do everything I have done for years, and still do, but THEY GET PAID FOR IT. Also, they are both very cheerful, friendly, and energetic. I hate that.
I have discovered that the mere glimpse of a public library cheers me up. I was driving my son to his tennis training at 8pm tonight (annoying, impossible time for driving to courts) and I drove past my local library. It was still open, and I could see the warm, yellow light through the windows, and I even caught a glimpse of a man standing by a shelf with a book. It cheered me up instantly.
I am fretting over the fact that E. M. Delafield died in 1943, at the young age of 53. She would have simply ADORED blogging, I just know it. She would have had a huge blogger following and would have become an international celebrity. Here is how she signed off on the last post of her first volume of "Diary of a Provincial Lady":
Robert says, Why don't I get into Bed? I say, Because I am writing my Diary. Robert replies, kindly, but quite definitely, that In his opinion, That is Waste of Time.
I get into bed, and am confronted by Query: Can Robert be right?
Can only leave reply to Posterity.