1.  Sunday Morning

2.  Bathing Beauties

3.  Beady Eyes

Son 1aged 5y 2m  is lice-free. Yes I know I go on about Head Lice too much. But I am jumpy every time I see Son 1 scratch his head. I conditioned him, parked him on a chair in front of Ice Age 3 and combed and combed. He’s fine. Then I went off for a run. I’m getting there. Walking 2 mins, running 8 mins, x 3. I’m still looking at my watch too much. Yesterday, running through the crowded Town, I bumped into a woman. I got to the bottom of our Hill with the watch saying 27:30, not looking forward to running up it for 2 min 30.  I got as far as the Posh Bread shop and looked at it again. 27: 30. In the split-second bump, the woman had pressed the “pause” button on my sports watch.  Today, out before 10am, there weren’t many people around. I went out to the Rockpool Beach, ran down and ran along it.  Just a few dogwalkers, and a well-wrapped up family of four with two under-fives, out on the low tide rocks with fishing nets. Sheltered from the prevailing Arctic wind, the sky blue, the air clear and the beach clean, it was a fantastic place to be on a fantastic morning.

At home, I put Son 1 in the shower to rinse off the conditioner. And then ran a bath for Son 2 aged 2y 3m and me. Son 2 always used to sit in the bath at my feet while I had my morning shower. And then one day he started watching telly with Son 1… and that was it.  In his only child days, Son 1 and I used to bathe together all the time. I can’t remember the last time Son 2 and I had a bath together. All I know is he must have been a lot smaller. It was like having a post-marathon yoga session as I tried to fold up my legs so he could fish Nemo toys around with a three-pint jug. He is lovely, with his shining blue eyes and his perfect skin.  ”Oh no! I’m stuck in the jug! Who’s going to help me?” I threw his turtle in and rescued him with Dory.  Son 2 played on: “Who gon’ ‘elp me?  Where Nemo?”  He helped me wash my hair, he squirted me with bath toys,  he emptied great big jugs of water on me.    He didn’t want to come out.

We walked down to the Town for pies for lunch. Son 2 had fallen asleep in the Big Pram before we got to the bottom of the hill. Son 1 bought Hama beads from the Discount Store with three weeks’ pocket money. We came back and made some pictures.  He is unstoppable if he’s doing well… when he realised he’d got a row wrong he just stopped and sulked till I sorted him out.   “It’s good when we have problems because then we can show how clever we are at sorting them,” I said brightly, knowing I am supposed to Leave Him To Find His Own Solutions. Nanna came round. Son 2 wanted to make a picture. He picked out a few beads and tried putting them on a board. Then he pulled out great handfuls and dropped them on the floor. We sent him upstairs with Nanna to watch CBeebies. The Man fixed Sunday lunch. I ironed Son 1’s pictures, and finished off the lunch. We had Scooby Do crackers from the Discount store, which both boys adored. After the meal Son 1 put his Santa suit on and danced madly with Son 2. There was a banging on the windows and catcalling outside. Son 1 opened the door. Friends from far along The Terrace, on their way back from Church. They came in and drank wine. Their two girls raced around with the boys. Son 1, already exhausted, wailed “I want some quiet time now.” The seven year old disappeared into the dishwasher-box playhouse well done mummy and Son 2 was allowed in with her. All the visitors left… we got the boys upstairs and told them bedtime would be shortened. Son 2 still insisted on doing 4 wees on the potty, for which he got 4 dolly mixtures. As did Son 1.   

1.  Swimming

2.  Talking

3.  Running

My New Year Resolution is going to be Spend More Time With Son 2 Aged 2y 2m On My Day Off.  I never seem to see him.  First thing in the morning,  I’m trying to get him to sit in front of the telly without me so I can Get On.  Then we whirl around doing stuff… then I try to get him to sit in front of the telly without me so I can Get Tea.  And then I put him to bed.  So. Today I zoomed around so we could go swimming.  Tidy this, clean that, load this, fold that. I made him a post-swimming snack box. And put it in the boot. In the car, he wanted his blueberries. “They’re in the boot. You can have them when we get to the pool.” Crying. In the changing room, he stuffed his face with rice cakes. And had a tantrum when I took them off him to put them in the locker. In the pool he tantrummed, so I propped him up on the noodle in front of me and went for a swim. He wouldn’t share his toys with the Wednesday Friends.  He sulked, he pouted.  Eventually he settled down and enjoyed himself, but he wanted to get out after 45 minutes. Then he devoured his snack box.  And then he was all smiles and twinkles. For ages, I have wondered why the boys always dive bomb me when I’m making packed lunches, and eat half of it before it even gets in the bags.  And now I know.  Because they’re… er… hungry.

After swimming we went to see Friend In The Country. Her two elder boys are at school and pre-school, only the baby, nearly 1, was at home.  He was asleep when we arrived. Son 2 loved their toys, playing first with animals and dinosaurs, then cars and planes, then food. His speech is great. I love the fact that he can pick up a “jellybish”  and a “kang kang” and put them in a car for a drive. He played; we drank coffee and chatted.  (Why do I never spend time with my son on my day off? Because I’m always gossiping with my friends…)  We had lunch. Son 2 rejected pizza “Oi don’ loik i’.” FITC made him a sandwich. ”What would you like in it?” “‘am. Peez.”  Granary bread and smoked ham. “Oi don’ loik i’” The Baby Awoke. Blond, blue eyed, gorgeous. Son 2 was spooked by a Santa Jack In The Box. 

When we got back Son 2 was asleep. I put him in the Big Pram to take him shopping, and he woke up. Yellow-stickered food from M and S. And a free biscuit for Son 2, to keep him quiet. The Man and Son 1 aged 5 y 2m piled in shortly after we arrived home. I put them both in the lounge to watch a free DVD from a newspaper while I made eggy pie.  They were both allowed to watch the end of the film after tea as a special treat. The Man and I sat in our armchairs, thinking we were in for a rest. The film finished after 6 minutes. “Come on!” ordered Son 1. “You can’t just sit there and stare at the stars!”  We didn’t get down from bedtime till 8pm.  I did washing. And then I went for a very late run.  Over to the Rockpool beach. i ran along the top path, thinking it was too dark to get down the steps.  The surf crashed softly, and the beach itself was visible enough.  In the bay there were container ships and an oil rig, all with lights blazing.  But it was starting to rain, and there was too much cloud to see anything in the sky.

1.   Lice Age

2.   Sedimentary

3.   Volcanic

Tuesday’s head lice comb through was so traumatic I promised Son 1 aged 5y 2m that we’d do it differently next time. In front of the telly, watching a DVD.  Son 1 had pestered and whined and pestered and whined for Ice Age 3 during our last big shop at Tesco.  The Man had sneaked it into the shopping during a top up last weekend. ”Because this has been so horrible, I’ll get you Ice Age 3 for when we have to check you again.”  This morning, I was downstairs in the Double Bed after being woken up in the small hours by drumming rain. Son 2 aged 2y 2m cried for me; I took him out of his cot and brought him in with me. Son 1 padded down. He’d been up with The Man in the Big Bed.  He climbed into bed with us in the dark. ”Do you want to check my hair?”  A doddle.  I slathered him in conditioner, put a towel round him, sat him on a chair, parked him in front of Ice Age 3, switched on a blinding spotlight and combed and peered.  He was fine.  However. I know I wasn’t watching. I know I am clueless about popular culture.  But I am bothered by the dinosaur and the mammoth. 

After Son 1 had the all clear I went out for a run. Sort of.  Running seven minutes, walking three minutes. x 3. Sunny all the  way. I ran over to the Rockpool Beach again, where the tide was in and high, crashing on to the sea wall, shushing back and forth with piles of brown seaweed marking the high water line on the promenade above.  I went out three times this week, which is a Good Thing.  The boys went out into the back garden with The Man while I was running.  He is still pulling down and pulling up, shovelling and spreading.  The Nice Neighbour has been out to check he’s not building another shed.

Son 1 and Son 2 were their usual Sunday selves, flouncy, shrieky, crabby, shouty.  I tried to play pirates with Son 1, but as usual our game ended with me refusing to continue and packing all the toys away. At least I didn’t bellow out: “I’m not playing with you any more.” But I was close.  I really do want to be able to play his games with him.  But a large pirate ship was lobbed at force into the Tower Of Doom. Likely damage to the pirate ship and to the Tower of Doom. And deeply unhelpful because Son 2 copied and started smashing the other toys into each other.  We went out for a drive so they could get some sleep. Son 2 slept on the way out. Son 1 slept on the way back.  Then Son 2 played with his fire engine, the ladder going all the way up the Tower Of Doom. I helped him hose down the dragon.  And Son 1 and I did puzzles.   It was calmer and quieter, and the difference was they’d both had a sleep. But I would like to play pirates with him, without my being flouncy, shrieky, crabby or shouty.

1.  Drumming Down

2.  Splashing Round

3.  Switching On

Kept awake from 2am by thundering rain pelleting down on the velux window.  In the end I went down to the Big Bed. Still couldn’t sleep. Went downstairs. Made a cup of tea. Read paper. Hung washing out. Made another cup of tea. Went back to Double Bed. Still couldn’t sleep.  Son 2 aged 2y 2m wailed “Mummeee!” and I went and got him. “Where are you taking him?” asked a sleepy Son 1 aged 5y 2m. “Next door,” I said. “You can come if you want.” It was past 5am, and I figured I was so tired that I’d fall asleep deeply, they’d fall asleep deeply and then we’d all get a lie in.  I lay in the middle. Son 2 was lightly asleep. Son 1 eyebrowed me madly.   And still I couldn’t sleep. I must have in the end, because Son 2’s chatter woke me. “Get me out!” I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow. “Son 1, go and unzip Son 2’s sleeping bag.” “I can’t. I can’t do the zip.” “You can do zips. Go and let him out.” Son 1 tried. He couldn’t. “Oh just leave him then.” “Waaaaaaaa!”  I unzipped it. Son 2 reached for the light switch. “No! If you want the light on, go somewhere else.” They both slid away. I heard them unwrapping plastic on the landing. The Sweet Shop.

The Man did the Sweet Shop, and I stayed in bed. He brought me coffee at 0845. The Sweet Shop - full of jelly tots, dolly mixtures and wine gums - had been removed and put away.  Son 1 stomped up and down with the box. “We want our Sweet Shop back.”  We did a deal. I took out the sweets, and replaced them with Cheerios,  pine nuts, cubes of cheese, cubes of apple and hula hoops.  I put raisins and Coco Pop balls in the little jars. This was the new sweet shop.  It all went. Except the pine nuts.  On the phone to Granny, Son 1 laughed. “We’ve got a new sweet shop only we haven’t sold any sweets. We just eated them up.”  The rain hammered down. I put on my New York Marathon 2002 gilet and went running. Wet and splashy. I am now running 5 mins, walking 2.5 mins, four times.  One of my walking sections took me to the Rock Pool Beach, so down I went. The waves were loud, the rain was falling, there were piles of sodden, sopping seaweed everywhere. Just a few dog walkers and me. 

When I came back The Man had made a stew for tea and the children were still watching telly. We took them out for a walk and some air, came back, had lunch, watched more telly. Then we went into The Town for the Christmas Lights switch on.  Lanterns, children, street hawkers, Santa, and rain. Lots of rain. Son 1 went shyly up to Santa, who gave him a sweet. “Can I have one for Son 2 please? He’s my little brother.” He was given another. Son 2 was asleep. Son 1 ate it. At the end of the evening, when Son 2 was awake, we saw Santa again and again, he dished out chocolates. ”I daw Nan Ta,” Son 2 said over and over. “What do you want Santa to bring you, Son 2?” I asked. ”An An”  “Animals?” “Yes.” ”What sort of animals?” “Tye Tye. I like Tye Tye.”  Pity. Santa’s already  bought him a farm.

1.  Signs Of Love

2.  Good Intentions

3.  Warning Signs

Son 1 aged 5y 2m and Son 2 aged 2y 2m were so wiped out at bedtime yesterday that I was SURE we were heading for a lie-in this morning. Nope. 7am. Son 1, was as usual, in the Big Bed. The Man had gone Downstairs to try to get Son 2 back to sleep.   Son 2 wanted his breakfast. We were all getting up.  Son 1 was knackered. There was a lot of lying on the bed/on the floor/on the comfy chair watching telly. Son 2 was raring.  As the morning ticked on, The Man took Son 2 outside to play in the garden while he pulled down our rotten trellis.  Son 1watched more telly.  I rang Eldest Brother. Aged Aunt’s funeral is on Thursday. The Man says he’ll come.  Eldest Brother has found a box in which Aged Aunt kept every letter I ever sent her.  I am strangely, completely undone.   Eldest Brother is missing her.  “She didn’t have a bad life,” he said.  “She spent her life surrounded, or being cared for, by people who loved her,” I said. “That puts her in the top 1% of old ladies in the World.” I put my running things on, waved at The Man through the window and off I went. 

It’s the morning of the 5 mile run I did last year. five miles Tra la la. Last year I thought it was the beginning of Big Things. This year, well, I’ve been out 8 times in the last 2 weeks. I’ve realised that the point of the 10- weeks-to-get-you-to-running-12-miles-a-week training programme which I keep starting, isn’t to get you running distances… it’s to get you running 4 times a week. So. Walking 2 minutes, running 4 minutes, when every other runner in Town was doing 5 miles. Chicago, Chicago, it’s My Kind Of Town. I mentioned my Chicago Marathon Daydream to a Mum I know who rows a couple of weeks back. She went running that day, and has been seen out running since.  I have 11 months. I can still Do It.

Son 1 wanted Eggy Pie for tea, much to The Man’s disgust.  Son 2 stood on a chair and washed the potatoes. Son 1 aged 2y 2m used to wash potatoes. Yes, there was water and mud everywhere, but that was all. Son 2 threw the vegetable brush at the cactus, stretched up to press the microwave buttons, stretched for knives and scooped water from the sink with a spoon and drank it.  These are, of course, organic potatoes, with the mud and manure still attached.  Neat e coli.  Yum.  Son 1 came down to break the eggs for me. He cracks them and put the shells in the box. We need 5 eggs. We had 5 eggs. He went back upstairs for Even More Telly. I poured the mix into the pan. “I usually have more than that,” I thought. I fished in the bin. There was a whole egg in the thrown out egg box.  I cracked it into the pan and stirred it up a bit.  They all stuffed their faces, even The Man, who also had Ready Meal chicken pieces and dip I found in the freezer.  At bathtime, Son 2 reached for a Nemo toy Son 1 had left on the bathside. Son 2 didn’t realise that he needs the bathmat which covers the floor of the bath, and stepped up the bath wall.  He slipped instantly, did a half turn, slid straight down, clunked the back of his head and zoomed on his back straight under the water. I was just walking back into the bathroom as he did it, saw it, fished him out, cuddled him and let him go back in when he wanted to.  Of course I have never left him on his own in the bath before.

1.  Holding Up

2.  Falling Down

3.  Clinging On

Yesterday I allbut wore an evening dress to work.  Only dark tights left, nothing else would Go, so I poshed up. Loads of compliments, so that dress is now a work outfit.  It’s also a Tesco outfit, because I wore it to the Big Shop with Son 1 aged 5y 1m. Where I bought 2 boxes of 2-pairs of natural tights. I pulled out a pair this morning and they were Hold Ups.  Now.  I tried Hold Ups 20 years ago when they first came out, in the days when they stayed up only by tourniquet-ing your tubby upper thighs, and slithered straight down your leg if you wore even a whiff of body lotion.   So I did an instant calculation. 2 boxes = £7, do I have enough life to take them back = no.  And then I remembered my Student Days. When I bought stockings two pairs at a time because that way if you got a ladder you always had a Spare Leg.  Plus they were always marked down in sales.  I had drawers full of suspender belts and knew that as a Stockings Girl I had a certain quelquechose.  But these days, I have no suspender belts and no stockings, and I can’t even remember when or why I changed over.  So. In honour of the Stockings Girl, the Hold Ups stayed.

I dropped Son 1 off at School, went into The Office, and at lunchtime, went out for a run/walk along The River with a colleague.  Walk 2 mins, run 4 mins, x 5.  We did all right. Afterwards, my colleague and I walked in The Big Town for a meeting. And with every step, one of my Hold Ups slipped further down my leg.  My colleague was sympathetic, and did her best to give me cover as I tried to hoik it up every four paces. On the way back the comedy element was improved by adding a friend of hers who lives near The Office walking back with us. The friend kept trying to draw me into the conversation… I kept trying to fall back and and keep my head down so I could do surreptitious little hitches.

Son 1 fell asleep in the car on the way back, and I parked outside the house and took in all the bags without him.  “Where’s my Son 1?” asked Son 2 aged 2y 2m, thumping down the stairs. “Mummy come back work. Son 1 come back School.” He always needs to stay close as soon as I’m back, hanging on to me, crying if I try to shake him off. If I sit down he has to sit on my knee. If The Man tries to take them upstairs to give me five minutes’ peace, Son 2 always trails back down.  I quite like it now… I like his unswerving determination. Mummy will read me my books, Mummy will bath me, Mummy will dress me, Mummy will do my teeth, Mummy will sing my lullaby and put me to bed.  I went upstairs to change out of my Office clothes. Son 2 followed.  I took my Hold Ups off at last.  The one that Held Up had a big ladder in it.

1.  Geography

2.  History

3.  Biology

I was late out of the door because we were up in the night. Son 1 aged 5y 1m was hot, thirsty, uncomfortable and wanted his Mummy.  On my way out I met a friend, the same age as me, with granddaughters aged four and 10 months.  Her 27 year old son went to Afghanistan a month ago. He’s still got five months to go.  Her daughter-in-law’s having a hard time with the News, the Remembrance coverage, and being on her own with the baby.  My friend aches for any contact from her son. And lives in constant dread.  

At lunchtime I went for a sandwich with another Mother, a few years older than me.  Acutely worried about her brilliant, but vulnerable 20 year old daughter. For the first time, I heard the story of the eldest child, who would have been 25 on Friday.  She died, from a chromosomal disorder, a few days before Christmas when she was 2.   “There’s a programme on tonight. I think the little girl has what she had.  She just looks the same.”  Because, 23 years later, you remember.  

Son 1 being at home gave me an extra half hour after The Office. I went for a Twilight Run.  Cold, damp, crisp and grey.  I’m still half-walking and half-running, but who cares.  I was out, in the kit, in the dark.  Back home Son 1 seemed much better, until just before bedtime, when his voice was shot and I could almost hear the wince in his eyes as he swallowed. We doubled up, again, on Calpol and Ibuprofen to bring his temperature down.  He had a clear mission. To get tomorrow, Mummy’s Day off, off school so we could have Adventures again like we used to.  As he wilted, The Man and I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and give him the extra day, just to make sure. And Back To School on Thursday.

1.  Getting Up

2.  Stepping Out

3.  Lying Down

As always, on a Monday morning, The Man and I were clattering around downstairs while the Son 1 aged 5y 1m and Son 2 aged 2y 1m softly snored in their bedroom.   I drank coffee, and gazed blearily at the clocks.  Every clock in the house has to be fast, or I am Late For Everything.  And only a few have been put back.  So in the lounge it was 0730. In the kitchen it was 0630.  Everywhere else,  it could have been anything from 0615 to 0620.   Wonder Nanny, months ago, told me she never looks at any of our clocks and relies on her mobile phone for the time.  The boys came down.  Son 1 now turns his nose up at Coco Pops, so we’ve gone back to pancakes.  Son 2 stuffed his face. Son 1 nibbled the edge of a tiny piece like a teenaged girl in ballet school.  I nagged and nagged.   As always, on a Monday morning, I was Gloriously Grateful that Son 1 got to School on time.

At lunchtime, a colleague and I went out for a Run.  I haven’t been out since A Pan Fan.  ( Another Good Thing. I have worked out how to edit the hyperlinks…)   We were therefore both Beginners, and did 3min walking and 3 min running x 5, in bright, crisp autumn sunshine.  We went down by The River, past the Garden and the Playground and along to the Sports Field.  My colleague wanted to run on the grass to save our joints. I didn’t want to mess up my nearly new shoes.  And yet inside I still think I’m a runner…  

I collected Son 1 from After School club.  He burrowed his face into my shoulder.  “Are you tired, Son 1?” I asked. “They’re all a bit tired, today,” said the Helper. Son 1 wanted a carry.  I hitched him up, and he slumped against me. “You’re not very well, are you?”  “My throat’s sore. It hurts when I yawn. Tell Daddy I don’t think I’ll have any tea. ”   I carried him across the playground. “I’m parked right up the Muddy Path. Do you want me to leave you on the bench while I go and get the car?”  “Yes please.”  Reader, I couldn’t.  I carried the poor floppy lump quarter of a mile, in my trouser suit and three inch heels.  He only ate a Frube from his tuck box, and was asleep by the time we got home.  I took his temperature. 37.9.  Son 2, chuckling with joy at first sight of us, went nuts at the amount of attention Son 1 was getting. They were both in bed and asleep at 7pm.  Or 8pm, if you were in the lounge.

1.  Punch

2.  Pizzazz

3.  Yahoo

Boy oh boy.  I am still struggling to get up each morning.  When I get the boys up there is fruit for pre-breakfast snacks, to get started on their five-a-day while they’re still hungry.  I dress them.  And I sit with Son 2 aged 22m to read five books - chosen by him, of course. We are very Child Led in our house.  This will Develop His Understanding And Vocabulary. It must take place with no distractions or diversions (ie Son 1 aged 4y 10m) so Son 2 is Focused.  Sticker Books are only allowed in the morning. as they are too exciting before bed.  Trips to the window seat to watch the bin men or recycling lorry are allowed, but only if he comes straight back after.   If I stay in bed, all three of them sit in the lounge in their pyjamas and watch telly till I get up.  This morning I managed to heave myself up and Son 2 and I did our books. Then we went upstairs where Son 1 was watching Aladdin.  I was in a mad rush, but the Genie had just been let out of the lamp and I cannot resist him. We all danced.   I’m In The Mood To Help You Dude. 

I ticked off some things from the To Do list.  Booked hall for Son 1 and Son 2’s joint birthday party.  That’s a Load Off.   Mmm. That may have been Jack Nicholson, not Robin Williams.    So I now have a hall and a Party Leader.   All I need now is a bouncy castle and we’re rocking.  I flew around The Town and got presents and cards for The Man’s birthday.  And a couple of cheap DVDs from HMV for me.     I bought a birthday card for Wonder Nanny’s Other Family’s Mother, who’s having a party tomorrow that we can’t get to  because we were already booked.  I sent an email back to The Boy Who Broke My Heart, who sent me one yesterday.  Regular readers will know he had to phone me, http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/07/19/visitors/ in a very strange collision of our separate, parallel worlds.  We are going to have coffee next time I am in the Teeming Metropolis.  Not.  At least not until I’m the size 12 I was in 1983. 

And I got out for a run.  Unrelated to the last line of 2.  It was, AT LAST, a lovely evening. The Man had planned drinks with a work colleague, so I went out for a quick jog after the boys went to sleep. I ran through The Town, past the Different Coloured Houses Sitting By The Sea,  to Rockpool Beach.  Really lovely.  Very warm, and the tide was in, so I ran along the lower sea wall as the tips of the waves touched it.  The horizon was miles and miles away, the sea was blue and flat, the air felt crisp and clear.  Coming back I heard a cry of “Serenedays!” It was a very young colleague from The Office, freshly shaved, in a very clean, pressed shirt, on his way out to celebrate a friend’s birthday.  He thought they would all end up in the Town’s Dodgy Nightclub.  I liked The Town’s early evening atmosphere. Families out… father and sons, matching builds and faces, walking shoulder to shoulder, eating chips from paper… big dock visitors in large, overwashed black tee shirts and thick jeans, smart ladies of a certain age escorted by husbands in chinos and pastel polo shirts… lippy teenagers “Keep running!” and girls in clothes I couldn’t dream of wearing…  I’m very glad I went out.

1.  Blood

2.  Sweat

3.  Tears

Son 1 aged 4y 9m woke drowsily last night at midnight when I went to give him a goodnight kiss, and then followed me up to the Big Bed.  This morning I woke up and gazed across at his cherubic sleeping features… his long eyelashes still on his cheeks… masses of dried blood in his nostrils and on his lip and chin… and a great, dried stain of blood circled out from his nose on the changed-on-Sunday  sheet. He clearly still had bloody snot/snotty blood up his nose just from the sound his breathing was making, but I had Son 2 aged 22m yelling “Mummeeee” from downstairs so I just left him.  Does anyone know anything about  nosebleeds?  I think I’ll give him one more before I take him to the doctor.

All did not go to plan today.  Massively tired after yesterday’s excursion.  The car was booked in for an MOT and service. I turned the house upside down looking for my driving licence for the courtesy car. In the end I rang the garage: “Oh just come over, we’ll ring the DVLA.”  I did though remember to take my running kit to The Office. I’ve been getting good at going out again, and I’ve been enjoying it, and I didn’t want to let my fitness drop while The Man is away. Which means running at lunchtime. So, at 1330, I changed into bras, tee-shirt, shorts, socks… and then realised I had two left running shoes.  One from my old pair - which I’d used in the garden at the weekend - and one from the new pair. 

I worked like the clappers all afternoon so I could finish in time to collect the car before the garage shut, and let Wonder Nanny go home at her normal time.  At just the right moment to go there was a torrential rainstorm. Great cracks of thunder, whiteout lightning, hoofing it down. I waited and waited and waited. The sky was black, the air was dark, the traffic had stopped and there was water pooling and swirling in the car park.  I went for it.  It was 200 yards to my car.  I could not have got more wet if someone had stood emptying skiploads of water over me.  I took off my three-inch heels in the car and tipped out the water on the ground outside.  The rain was bouncing off the puddles like ricocheting bullets.  My mac was soaked, my skirt was soaked, my shirt was soaked.  My hair looked like I’d just come up from a dive.  The storm passed as I drove to the garage. As soon as I got out of the car there was another downpour.  I am, I suppose, lucky in many other ways.