Sitting in car park puffing down a quick fag, staring gloomily at factory buildings and wondering why life hasn’t got any better.
Pete, my dog, spent the night demanding to go outside and then, while I was shivering on the cold door step, would flatly refuse to "carry through" and would howl with doggie laughter. Started challenging working day, yet once more, exhausted.
Had thought that, now kids are grown up, life would be free of children-worries but my son keeps phoning from Oz, usually during one of my important mid-morning meetings, to speak gibberish down the static-filled line before passing out. Not very reassuring. Hope to hell he won’t ring today.
Stopped off briefly for a check-up with my lovely doctor, which ended up in us comparing our mutual stress-levels (he has small holiday-home business, apparently). We both agree that our ideal Easter would involve speaking to no-one. Temper is not improved when I book next appointment at reception to find he has two weeks' holiday booked, whereas I have no holiday booked. Open computer to find email from friend, happily declaring her intention to visit with child for as much of Easter as possible.
Meanwhile at work, am still mopping debris from HR people and company restructure. Have appeal hearing with trade union rep today (never done this before and too many childhood memories of Ted Heath’s time), which is going to be far from jolly.
At my time of life, I expected to be a suave and elegant ultra-successful businesslady, free of child worries, beautifully made up and well rested, with equally elegant social life. Instead, am stress ridden, have bags down to chin, ladder in tights, half-cooked dinner for seven festering at home, and the bloody unions to face.