Sleep. Hmmmm. I dream of fluffy white pillows, feathery duvet and sleeping until my alarm goes off. I dream of waking up and not feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus, have been on a huge bender or feel about 92 years of age. I dream of looking in the mirror and not going, “Oh Christ almighty” at the visage that reflects back at me. I dream of not being woken 3 times a night and stumbling out of bed only to trip over my husband’s size 11 Crocket & Jones shoes, that really frickin hurt when they slam into your toe in the dark abyss. I dream of dreaming again. So, you can probably tell that the sleep is going really well at the moment. It has actually got a lot better. I haven’t slept in her room or been on paw patrol for weeks now. However, there are just multiple wakings where she shouts out “Mummy!!” at the top of her lungs and then demands “Hand” in a weak and dramatic little voice (no idea where these Judi Dench tendencies come from. Honestly.) On the plus side, we only have two more teeth to go. One bottom molar is rearing its ugly head at the moment so that was the reason for last night’s midnight and 4:40am wake up calls. I did actually get some sleep. The night before however, was not so good.
I woke up that fateful morning feeling like a tfl double decker had ploughed into my side the day before. I had been in and out of my small one’s room. Hand and back rub administered, plus granules and Calpol for aching gums. I felt rough on Monday morning. I felt like my head had been stuck up my arse and my eyes had been forced open to look at the sun. Small one was dropped off at amazing Childminder, car was dropped off at home and I sloped off to work. I didn’t even have time for a Flat White, that’s how shit my morning started off. I walked to work from Willesden Junction. This place makes me sad. It’s just a series of railway lines, industrial waste land and really pissed off looking folk, like me. I arrived, signed in, went for a pee and then my producer came out. “Morning. Nice to see you. You’re with me this afternoon….” Oh FFS! This afternoon? I double checked my emails and there it was: OUP, 2-5pm. Bollocks with an extra helping of bums.
So, I said my Goodbyes and I made my way home with a face like a slapped arse. Oh good. The tube’s here, I’d better run for it. Great I’ve got a seat. The announcement tells me that’s it’s going to West Ruislip. I don’t want to go to West Ruislip. I’ve never been there but I know I don’t want to go there. Especially this morning as I want to go home and do the hundred and one things that I had planned to do on MY AFTERNOON OFF. I finally get home and have about an hour and three quarters. Needless to say, the flat doesn’t get cleaned, that letter doesn’t get posted and the car insurance doesn’t get renewed. Nothing on my list gets ticked off. I do however, manage a nice lunch, a blog post and put a wash on.
So, the week must get better from here on in? Mais non, Harriet. Oh non indeed. This very morning I was working on an app. The previous recording that I had done on it was two years ago and had started well. I was 39 weeks pregnant and I had to take my maternity notes with me just in case. I had to travel to Bexleyheath but on that particular day the tubes were screwed and there had been a power cut at London Bridge. I remember ringing my husband in hormonal pregnant tears asking him what I should do. It took me three hours to get there. So, when I started off today I was hopeful of a safe and speedy journey. To Marylebone. Where the ruddy confirmation email had told me to go. I arrived 15 mins before my session. I just had a bad feeling. I walked up to the studio which I had actually worked at many years ago, only so many years had passed that it was now an estate agents. Really? Are you actually sodding kidding me!? I checked the email. Marylebone. It says Marylebone in black and feckin white. I rang the lovely guy that runs the studio. No, he hadn’t been at that address for over 3 years. So off to Bexleyheath I went.
The bonus of these major cock ups is that I have done all of my required step count on my Garmin for the day and I did the job so quickly that I got off at my old stamping ground, Bermondsey where me and my husband lived for 10 years and before we were married. I ate my Pret looking at Tower Bridge and the river Thames. I walked along the Thames path and took a photo of where I got married and then walked to the station for my afternoon session. So, things turned out ok. I haven’t even told about the session I missed on Friday because I hadn’t put it in my diary when I was ill. Oh yes. My grey matter has shrivelled away like an old man’s todger. I wonder what else this week will bring? I’m due some luck surely? Maybe I will do the lottery tonight. Might as well make the most of my winning streak eh?