Today I am mostly thinking about this evening's birthday dinner and whether I ought to be good and eat fruit for lunch, instead of what I'd prefer (junk food from M&S). So far, willpower is the victor, but it's not yet 12.Damn. Writing that just made my tummy rumble.
So, orf to a French bistro tonight for my yearly recommended allowance of cholesterol (doesn't appear to have any effect on the French) and I've been volunteered as the taxi driver (typical, but we'll see who has the last larf in the morning).
I do hope my mum likes her watch.
Ah yes. I gingerly asked the chap with the carpet burnt noggin what on earth he had been up to earlier. His explanation? 'Falling out of bed whilst intoxicated'.
I'm not sure I believe that, but the suggestions from various others, as to how it may have really happened are far too scary to contemplate and I'm not even going to entertain them.
Which means I already have.
I'll get on with my plan. That should erase any thoughts I have for the next day or so.
Fuff out
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