^That^ sort of day

It was quite a busy weekend with dinner guests on Saturday and a big family celebration on Sunday, both days involving rather more glasses of wine than was, perhaps, wise.

So today, the cats decided that we should all get going at four o'clock in the morning, banging on the bedroom door and yowling until I got up at six. After feeding them – does cat food really have to smell that awful – I made tea. I reached into the fridge, took out a bottle, poured some of the contents into my mug, returned the bottle to the fridge and headed sleepily to the sitting room and television news. I picked up aforementioned mug and looked at it with horror as I realised that I had added wine, not milk to my tea.

After showering and dressing, I headed into the office to get my accounts in order, but only after a couple of hours work did I realise that I had been entering details about one thing in another's place. As I save as I go along, there was no choice but to scrap the lot and start again.

I duly started again when Mr absent burst into the office to tell me that my trough of lovely balcon geraniums had been blown off the roof above the bay window in the sitting room and across the road. He'd rescued it and mercifully no one – on foot, on a bicycle or in a car – was passing at the time. Other pots of plant then had to be removed from said roof.

Just as were leaving to meet a friend for lunch, I heard a disturbing sound. The cat with the dodgy tummy had deposited a massive squidger on the utility room floor. Cue eight million sheets of jumbo kitchen roll and a gallon of Zoflora.

Met the friend – how pleasant – and then was joined by possibly the world's most boring person. WMBP inevitably joined our table and equally inevitably interrupted the conversation with his own choice of topics (always something in which we have no interest and about which we have no understanding). Short of telling the WMBP to go away and leave me alone, there's no way to get rid of him – and I can't bring myself to be that rude.

We left to come home and just as I was pointing out that I hadn't organised anything for supper, the branch of a tree hit me on the head, blown down by the gales we have up here in the North-east.

I have sorted out something for supper – not exciting – and it's currently sitting in the oven. I shall endeavour to tear myself away from gransnet before it burns – that being the most likely outcome on a day like today – and then, I think, I shall go to bed.

In the words of Scarlet O'Hara: Tomorrow is another day. BUT PLEASE NOT LIKE THIS ONE.