Dog boarded out. Wish I was too! Builders have gutted home – floors ripped up, plaster off walls, kitchen yanked out… Wander around house at 3.30am falling over tools and tiles respectively.
Have that vaguely sticky feeling one gets from living on a building site – however many baths I have, I never feel quite clean. Head to the hairdresser for couple of hours in hope of looking half decent for visit to London and Decorex exhibition tomorrow, prospect of which has about as much appeal right now as jumping off high bridge. Want to book myself into warm hotel room with half a ton of fluffy white towels and cascades of hot water and never come out again. Meanwhile, office offers little comfort. Lovely accounts man back part time to “see how it goes” and looks horribly unwell; very pale, pouring sweat and clearly struggling to try and achieve anything. Insists he is fine, which is clearly far from the case. Very aware it is our year end in four weeks and absolutely can NOT do that on my own on top of everything else. Must, must, must face up to whole nasty situation and get something sorted.
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