So I overslept this morning and woke up to the sound of a chupacabra crawling about in the wall cavity above the front door.
It may have been a bird. Or a mouse, or a rat. Either way, my daughter heard it too so I know it wasn’t me going nuts (again). It’s gone quiet since so it’s either escaped, died, or is lying in wait to peck or claw its way out in the early hours and suck our blood.
Meanwhile I’ve been into Sadford two days running and now feel like I need therapy. And by therapy, I mean beer.
The bus journey there on my Mum mission to exchange the too small short shorts was very much full of people like this.
I hoped I didn’t blend in.
I also prayed none of them were going to buy short shorts.
Primarda was like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. Clammy, hot, swarming with lost souls, eyes aglaze as they bustled through the racks of tat on their individual quests for sweatshop made, hotwash intolerant garments of ill-advised fashion.
I then went to the pool to observe some lessons to gain some teaching tips. This would have been a very helpful exercise had I gone on the right day. It was meant to be next weekend FFS! What a dingus. My mentor wasn’t even there – she’s in London.
So then I set off for home and had to run for the bus. Not a pretty sight for anyone witness to such a thing. Even more so when it wasn’t even my bastarding bus.
In my head I looked like this.
The reality was probably closer to this.
Particularly whilst wearing an oversized men’s ‘Wyld Stallyns’ * vest with one boob peeping out of the sleeve. (I was at least wearing a bra).
So I’ll leave you with that image.,,
*Bill & Ted fans – next Saturday is ‘Speak like Bill & Ted Day’. Sixty-Nine Dudes!