Sunday, sunday

I would like to tell you all about my exciting weekend, but the truth is, we did bugger all. Oh, we did go swimming, and Twin 2 picked fights with the marble steps to the front door and the concrete step at the swimming pool - so she now looks like a case for social services. And we took Son to his book club this afternoon. I'm not entirely sure what went on up there in the little room above the bookshop, but he came out just bursting with pent-up boy-ness and proceeded to rush wildly around the outdoor cafe with his two little mates until Hubby got a strop on and we suddenly all had to go home (I missed out on most of the action as I was upstairs buying books and agreeing to do a reading at a Roald Dahl day in a couple of weeks time).

Hubby is still quite sad as we have no nice DVDs left to watch. We have done the eight-month-old Buzzcocks and also similarly aged Top Gear and the only thing left was 'The diving bell and the butterfly", which has great reviews, but looks a bit too much of a tear-jerker for us to face at this time on a Sunday evening.

Hubby is now reading his MBA coursework and I am off to wash off a face pack. There, that's a nice insight into the intimacies of our domestic life.

I'm sorry it's not a bit more interesting. Maybe I should run out into the street in the nude or throw crockery from the roof or something to add a little spice to our life... or maybe I should just wash the face pack off and have an early night.

Cheerio x