this morning I was woken up by a pirate attacking me, running off and then running back in to moon me.

Hello. Here I am, alone in bed, with nothing but my hot water bottle and my fulsome body hair to keep me warm (well, if your spouse was away for months, what would you do? And, actually, if there were ever any remote possibility of me thinking cheeky thoughts or getting into a situation where I could even consider a little adulterousness, it really would never happen with the amount of hair I'm now sprouting. If I was a bloke, I'd have a beard, 1970s sideburns and a big fat beer belly - yes that's the extent of letting myself go since my husband disappeared into the desert).
I have just spent the evening massaging the dog and eating the last Cornetto (because in the end I didn't eat it the other night, when I really deserved it), watching 'Ten years younger' on some sub species of ITV and leafing through the Slimming World manual with vague thoughts about how I should really pull myself together...but not until 2012.
'Ten years younger' is one of those guilty pleasures things, isn't it? I know, I ought to be watching Channel Four news and appraising myself of the developments in the euro crisis, but somehow it seems more urgent to discover what that woman is going to do about her bingo wings, crows' feet and candyfloss hair (whilst massaging the dog's arthritis and eating the last Cornetto).
Anyway, I needed to veg because of my frustrating time with electrickery...I was trying to get some Dr Who stories off the laptop and onto my phone, so that I could play them in the car on our marathon journey to grandparents' for xmas. It didn't work. Now, if Hubby was around, this would be the point where I would have said "It doesn't work..." and looked pathetic until the master of gadgets sorted it out. I know that's useless of me, but I'm very lazy, you see: I would rather look utterly stupid than have to engage with an instruction manual. I was half hoping that Hubby would phone from Afghanistan and I could ask him how to do it (at least it would give us something to talk about), but the phone call didn't happen. I tried burning the Dr Who files to a CD, but that didn't work either. And then eventually I did read the instruction manual, which was not an enjoyable or fulfilling thing to do, but I did it, and I did do something that I thought was technically competant involving the phone and the laptop, but after leaving the phone doing something active through the USB cable for the entire evening, Dr Who still  has not shifted onto the phone. Ah, well, now I'm full of wine and Cornetto and top tips for looking ten years younger I'm no longer in the mood for pfaffing about with an irritating little piece of electronics; it will have to wait until the morning. Which will only be a few short hours away, now... this morning I was woken up by a pirate attacking me, running off and then running back in to moon me. Then the pirate's sister came and did the same thing. Outside my bedroom door I heard Son killing himself laughing, as he'd set them up to it. So if today is anything to go by, I shall expect to be ambushed by some kind of evil fancy dress child in about six hours...
xxx