Hmmm. Girl 13 has just e-mailed me to say Darling is in a private jet somewhere over the Nevada desert. As the person charged with Keeping The Home Fires Burning why do I find the contrast between our days somewhat irritating. Having been comprehensively snowed in for over a week, I have started each day, not with a prayer or yoga, but by cancelling anything and everything in my diary. And in one or two cases, this has been dispiriting, to say the least. I have managed not to bite my lower lip and cry, but only because there is no one here to see me and sympathise, so it would be a waste.
However, today I achieved one good thing. I told a lie, sucessfully. Without flinching or blushing.
I blamed the snow for the fact that I had failed to return my sailing club forms and managed to blag my way onto Ken's very popular Laser racing course. This may not score particularly highly against a private jet to Vegas, but when you are a bottom feeder you have to exist on detritus.
Without coming over all bitter and twisted, I'm not sure who's zooming who out there, but I damn well hope they're loving it. And that Lady Luck smiles on them.
*STOP PRESS* They lost a mint on the craps tables after the David Copperfield magic show in which Darling was called up onto the stage, asked to expose his boxer shorts (which we all know will have been immaculately ironed by Yours Truly) and had a car lowered onto him. A bit like home really then. Except you are more likely to be t-boned by a car skidding on ice than have one lowered onto you.