misery

Quite a strange bed time. We had just heard that the grandparents' dog died a few days ago, so all the kids were a bit upset. I decided to read them all a bedtime story, a happy one, to cheer everyone up, and let the Twins have a sleepover in Son's room. There was a book of stories in Son's room, and one of them was called 'The Happy Prince'. You would have thought that would be a happy story, wouldn't you? But no, you'd be wrong. 'The Happy Prince' would be better named 'The dead swallow who should have flown off to Egypt with his mates when he had the chance'. I'm sorry, but tweeting about in Heaven at the end, doesn't make for a happy ending, not when the poor old dead bird was lying on a rubbish heap in the middle of winter in some unspecified northern european town. So everyone went to sleep almost as gloomy as before, and I have vowed never to read another kids' story with 'happy' in the title.

Talking of gloom, I can hear wailing and shouting coming from the compound. Quite glad Hubby isn't here, as he always gets upset at the sound of other people's domestic issues, and wanders around muttering darkly about how he'd like to sack the lot of them. Luckily I usually persuade him not to, by reminding him that if Sanu and Meena get the sack, we will have to do our own washing up. And ironing. And washing. And hoovering. And cooking. And blooming everything.

The dogs have all started to howl as well, as if in sympathy for Sanu's misery.

Anyway, at least sandwiched in between the dead dog, dead bird and domestic's domestic, I have had a pretty productive evening. I've pitched another idea to the Sunday Times (they'll probably say no, but what the hey), talked to the army press office about getting clearance for researching my new novel (they are sending me a form to fill in), got the okay from Nottingham Uni to apply for creative writing MA and eaten several tasty chocolate biscuits.

Oh no, Sanu is still crying, loudly. And her husband seems to be talking very reasonably. It's definitely not domestic abuse (in which case I'd have to do something).

Ok, it turns out that her husband has been unfaithful, and she's drunk and angry with him. I intervened in the end. I feel desperately sorry for her, but I'm not going to have drunken shouting in my back yard at ten thirty at night. Her husband has gone. I'll offer her the day off tomorrow.