I don’t get to sleep in in our beloved King-sized Sealy Posturepedic this weekend. Usually I’d get a little depressed if that was the case, but seeing as these days there are three certain young ladies who like to get up at sparrowfart and twitter away to each other two doors down the hallway from us it’s not as depressing a thought as it normally would be.
Tonight the Other Harf and I will be staying at my work colleague Ethel’s house, as we will be attending my work’s annual quiz/disco evening and a taxi ride home is out of the question due to home being 25kms from town and half of it on twisty windy untaxiable rural roads. As a member of last year’s winning team I am cautiously optimistic for our chances this year, but then we did have quite a bit of help from the husband of one of the credit controllers whose encyclopedic knowledge of the works of Charles Dickens and all the names (and superpowers) of ancient Greek Gods was truly staggering.
Unfortunately as the credit controller is no longer with the company, I don’t like the chances of seeing her husband along tonight.
And, unlike last year, I am planning on being a sensible drinker this time round, as on Saturday morning we have to dash home to dispatch Miss 7.10 to her first Brownies Camp complete with a brand new set of enamel dinnerware and a promise to Be Prepared.
Then it’s a whirlwind trip down to Auckland to catch up with the Newly Marrieds and cheer on the All Blacks (playing the Springboks) at a local pub. Sunday, we’re rendezvousing with my cousin and her husband (who also will have driven two hours but north instead of south) to pick up their daughter as she’s spending the first week of the school holidays up at the Kiwifruit Homestead. Let’s hope, like the Brownies she’ll Be Prepared for what’s in store for her.
By the time the weekend is over the King-Sized Sealy Posturepedic will be calling my name.
