The alarm goes off at 7.00. I either meditate for 20 minutes or sleep for 45 or jump out of bed and ablute.
This morning I slept. I am knackered from taking out my daughter, nephew and great nephew for supper. I did the minimal washing. You know, all the important bits. Then I walked out of the flat at 7.45 and bugger me, if the car didn’t start. My head is so fatuszed that last night I didn’t close the door on the car properly so the battery is as flat as one of Martin Blunos’s very delicate blinis.
I went upstairs to the flat and woke up my very fast asleep house guest. He didn’t have a battery charger so I called the AA. We agreed that they should come between 1-2 and all would be well. Calling the GFL studio for a taxi, I then realised that 2.00 wouldn’t be any good since I have a voice over to do in Soho. So, I called the studio to cancel the taxi, recalled the AA, washed my hair, argued with the taxi driver who wouldn’t hang up when I said shampoo was dripping all over my handset, called the producer, called the editor, toweled my hair, shouted at the taxi firm again, and read yet more of your wonderful comments.
I took a remedy to calm me down, apologised to my lovely sleepy house guest, got on my knees to pray that the AA would be here when they said they would, and have decided to write to you to while away what precious minutes I have left. IT IS NOT FUNNY.