I woke up with a horribly stiff neck causing a lot of pain whenever I turn to my left hand side. An old netball injury occasionally requires expensive trips to the osteopath. I'll get my wallet.
Note to self: remove superfluous magazine-style cushions and pillows that have been artfully arranged across the bed before going to sleep.
I came downstairs to be confronted by a utility room that was decorated in mountains of 'loose' dog poo. Not to be outdone, the cat seems to have joined in, for good measure. The description that I gave to a sleeping Hearth-Father was a little less measured, but probably not fit for blog post publication.
Note to self: do not feed leftover chilli to the dog.
But the big story of the day came just after breakfast. Here is a picture of a sad little boy, holding an empty box:
Yesterday he enjoyed the rare treat of a visit to the toy shop. After much deliberation he chose to spend all his Christmas money on a drone. Said drone disappeared this morning on its maiden flight. Very possibly, it is perched atop our roof, or stuck inside our chimney. Looking upwards and searching the skies has done little to help my neck pain. The strategic deployment of neighbours at upper storey windows has failed to yield any results. It is like it has disappeared into thin air. (Please let there not be any untoward activity at nearby airports this afternoon.)
Note to self: ensure seven-year-old has achieved full license before allowing solo drone flying.
Just about to attempt to cook roast lunch in an attempt to restore family harmony. What could possibly go wrong?
Currently reading: Roar by Celia Ahern
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