And relax..


Got up, had porridge, went to work, grabbed a coffee, work work work, maybe lunch, maybe not, work work work. 
After work, went to class, busy busy, January, resolutions, packed up, went home.
Arrived home, chop chop, one butternut squash, two onions, two sticks of celery, one carrot, one red pepper, four cloves of garlic, two chillies, roasting tin, oven on, 45 minutes, big pot, stock, simmer, season, blitz.  Next, one broccoli, one onion, two sticks of celery, stock, simmer, cream cheese, season, blitz. Next, pasta, boil, sauce, lunchbox.

9.45pm. What? How? Dinner, CSI, bed.

Got up, went to work, grabbed a coffee, had porridge, work work work, pasta lunch, work work work. 
After work, went to my parents, delivered soup, had dinner, read Herald, laughed at crackly TV reception during Rice Krispies ad, asked questions about Home and Away, flamin' gallah.

Back home, undecorated the Christmas tree, took out Henry for a vacuum and a chat, washing to dryer, washing to washer, dishwasher to empty.

9.15pm. What? How? CSI, bed.

Got up, went to work, grabbed a coffee, had porridge, work work work, pasta lunch, work work work. 
After work, er… em… huh?

No soup to make, house to clean or anyone to play with, so I wandered. In and out of my favourite shops, invisible in my head. Maybe a DVD, maybe a book, a bad day, something nice? 

In the big doors, past the fish tank, dodging ladies dressed in black trying to squirt me. To the Chanel counter! “One bottle of your finest Coco Mademoiselle please”. Emptying envelopes, pooling vouchers. Only €7.50 you say, a bargain.

Out I go, swinging my designer paper bag, feeling important, knowing I’m not and being happier for it. 
Off I go, bus home, stop in the shop, milk, a banana, a roll for dinner, back to reality.

And then it was Thursday, my Friday, the 13th.


  1. Mmmm... Coco Mademoiselle... The smelling of it, not the wearing of it.

    Loving your work.

  2. Meant to comment on this yesterday.

    Loved this post! Could almost see you doing all the chop chop chop!

  3. It's a nice feeling knowing you're not important. As in, no more than anyone else.

  4. thanks Radge, thanks beatingmyselfintoadress, means a lot coming from seasoned bloggers..

    I'd rather that feeling than the alternative Holemaster.


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