Ok, a lame title for a post, but it sort of sums up a week that's zig-zagged to its Traditional End, as in the Great British BlowYerWagePacketDownT'Pub in a 60s kitchen-sink-drama-film sort of way. Yes, probably that film with Rachel Roberts in.
With a week that didn't really start til Wednesday, is it any surprise that I was a bit gobsmacked to find it was Friday, already?
Its not that I've been hibernating til Wednesday, or been on a far-flung jaunt to a time-zone challenged somewhere. Just that the 12 year old and I have been jammy enough to be still on our Easter holidays til Wednesday, which is when hurtling around at crackingly early times of the morning kicked in again. And any first-day-back-to-school-and-World-of-Work always feels like a Monday. Hence, 3 days in and its Friday. Already. Heck. Brilliant.
The day before that I had a birthday. Which was a delightful more-chocolate-than-usual fuelled 24 hours, and I pretended to be sophisticated by adding brandy to my coffee all night. Though I would go for amaretto next time.
Wednesday (which I seem to be name-checking a lot, but more in a failing point-in-time reference than for any other reason) was spent trawling the many charity shops in a nearby little town, having capuccinos with big fat cookies, and scoring £14 worth of cardis, tops, picture frames, and a 1973 book on lacemaking and crochet which is going on ebay.
From then on it seemed any time I wasn't at work I was shopping, for two birthdays. There was sensible present buying - jewellery, hand cream - for a work friend, and then there was silly stuff like glittery beach bags, garden gadgets and a fruitless trawl of more charity shops and the vintage market for bits for my mum*. By this time my head was spinning with the sight of reduced-to-£2 Primark cushions emblazoned with Attack of The 60 Foot Killer Diva, and all manner of kitchenalia, old pictures, and more jewellery so I retreated home. To eat nearly a whole packet of flaky pastry cheese twists and move only the fingers I'm using to type this.
*Which is what I always end up doing before working out what main, proper-money, thing to get her. This can be hard work, given that she recently bought me an itchy blanket-fabric cocktail dress and a blouse with whacking great pockets on the front that even Yootha Joyce would have cast to the back of the wardrobe. But she knows to include the receipts...