A morning’s work? I hear you ask. How can that be a morning’s work? Good question. When I got back from dropping off the kids. Mr Big was here watching Tony Blair giving evidence at the Chilcot inquiry. This is all very well, but I know this is going to go on for some time, and time is something I do not have. I needed to put on loud music and paint. So eventually after much huffing and puffing, (from me) he took his swollen big hung over head off to work. I heard him mutter something about the patchwork at the end of the painting, but I closed my ears. Surely I can have selective hearing too?
I have met quite a couple of people over the last couple of days and they have confided really personal things to me. I am honoured to be confided in, in such an honest and frank way, almost a little scared. I feel like I need a velvet pouch to put these thoughts in, to look after them. To take them out, one by one and think about them, before putting them back neatly. My head is buzzing.