Every time I hear the words "You now have three options." I heard this three or four times phoning a helpline, only to find that I need to go on line to do something that presumably they could do with the clicky. And I don't see why I need a ten digit identity when I was issued a seven digit one when I turned sixteen.

And now I need to go forth and purchase cheese, and ham, and, because the veg box was insufficiently season, brussels and spuds. Thank god it is raining rather than snowing.


I also need to do a post office, and buy a present or two, because I am crap waaaa. This needs to be done by three, and I hold out little hope. What happened to being out by noon?


I also need to work out why my cat is punching me in the middle of the night. You know purr purr purr. Leap. Punch. Purr purr purr.

My plan was to watch the Godfather trilogy on Christmas Day, but right now the luxury, the present to myself, would be to sit down and write a chapter of the seventies book. Because I really need to get it moving out of my head.


Harumph
.

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