Well, it's been a bit of a funny old week. Let's just say all is not well in my new job, and I won't elaborate further. But I will say that I am not happy. At all.

And that is all I'm going to say about that.

So today I thought I would have my run-of-the-mill, routine, guaranteed to de-stress Saturday.

A bit of a lie-in with a new magazine or two, a cup of tea, some scrambled eggs on toast, some extensive weeding in the gardening, some pondering of the view on the verandah at lunchtime accompanied by the latest round of rural newspapers that our bonkers, I own-the-road postie delivers ("Country-Wide", "Rural News", "Straight Farrow", "Farmers Weekly"), more weeding, more weeding, a bit more pondering (this time, sitting against one of the big old macrocapra trees that serves as a windblock to our house), more weeding, then a nice long hot shower and a sesh on the PC for a couple of hours (scanning in a collection of autumn leaves I collected during this afternoon's pondering, a Facebook quiz or two) and now, dinner: salad, herbed roasted potatoes, pan-fried rump steak and Tegel's finest chicken sausages.

I'm feeling better already.

1 And the People said:

oh that's stink Fi, there's nothing worse than being unhappy at work.

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    your hostess Fi (40, just) and currently residing in a big old house in rural Northland, New Zealand with my lovely English husband (known round here as the Other Harf), our daughter (currently Miss 9.10) and a menagarie of orphaned animals and over-extended relatives. Have mercy.

This month I am mostly appreciating jonquils...


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