That was the weeks that was

I have been in and out of the sun.
Television on all the time with Wimbledon balls being whacked out over the sitting room rug.
The dawter BB.James, was feautured on Radio 1, and Gods Gift started rehearsing last week.
He’s now staying with friends in Beckenham, a leafy green suburb in South London, and jumping on the little overland train to get to Brixton where he is rehearsing.
He’s home tonight.
The dawter has been in the studio throwing her voice and I have been in and out of domestic/ work mode.
I have been writing into the night so everything, including the ironing, has taken a back seat.
As well as reading mountains of books for the Sunday show I’ve been driving back and forth to London to see things and meet people.
Emmy the puss has taken to staying out as she has been terrorized by Mr. Cat who creeps in and licks her dish clean. I’ve just locked the cat flap as she’s finally come in and curled up on the settee.
But the main reason for my blogging absence has been the computer and all things technological. I am hoarse from shouting at Calcutta.
For four days I have had no email, I have changed my password so many times the house is full of yellow post-its reminding what the new one is. I’m almost tempted to tell you lot so that you can remember it for me….
BT are a disgrace. Their call centres are too far away to make any sense and I have wracked up a bill of mighty proportions. Apparently they have changed their software and it’s not compatible with Mac. Whatever it is the call centre children have taken the full brunt of my fury.
GET ME A MANAGER has become my mantra.
I am taking the opportunity to write this blog now since everything seems to be working but who knows for how long….
I’ll be up in a few hours and so begins another day of vigorous exercise, meditation, Tibetan fiving, reading, writing then watering the lettuce, peas, broad-beans, spinach, tomatoes, kale and runner beans whilst clucking over my wonderful raspberries.
The raspberry canes are filling up with big juicy red berries, and this year I am determined to get to the blackcurrants before the birds do, jam methinks.
We have more apples than Granny Smith and the daisies have taken over the asylum.
It’s coming up to 3.00 a.m. and tell you the truth I feel like the woman who can’t decide whether to marry The Spaniard or the Rabbi. I don’t know whether I’m Carmen of Cohen.