I am writing...this is a giant excuse for not having finished hen coat. Or having tidied house, despite having now read Marie Kondo tidy your life forever book. I am THINKING about the whole tidying thing but the words need to go down on paper, so my life of clutter-freeness will have to wait.
The dogs are under the desk, having had their chews and now Licky is nibbling what looks like a doctor's receipt. It's a bit like watching small children trying to stuff giant lego blocks down the back of the couch: you know it can't hurt them and they're happy, so let them at it. I had to get rid of the giant pouffe they were slowly dismantling, so they are bored.
We are still watching Fortitude - OK, it is weird. I mean, I love all the people in it, esp Stanley Tucci, who can make readjusting his glasses have meaning, and Michael Hordern, who has such a glorious voice. But I do not know if I have the energy to watch the whole thing because there are about eight hundred plot lines, a scary glacier, marauding polar bears, a dangerous looking mammoth carcass, and too many people who look the same and have beards and rifles. Plus, now there is another creepy, staring-eyes bloke who is force feeding this lovely woman.... On the plus side, it makes you feel happily normal.
Series three of House of Cards is out but have yet to watch series 2, which I know would involve no sleep and binge watching, and cannot be tired as have to write...
Reading US writer named Paul Rudnick (read him years ago) who has written screenplays, plays and novels and he is HYSTERICAL. Keep being late out of bed in morning due to giggling madly at some bit or another. And have new Anne Tyler waiting to go. Plus The Girl on the Train, which seems to be the new Gone Girl. So many books, so little time. I have books I am to read for people but because I have zero 'me' time, when I get into bed, I want to drink my herbal 'yes, you will sleep' tea and just read what I want.
On Monday, dressed in one of John's old woollen sweaters because of the cold, a scarf, sloppy track pants and Murray wondered was I going out anywhere. Clearly, my sartorial choices have reached a new low. 'No,' I said loftily, implying that I would be more dressed up to leave the premises. And then I did go out. To do the Irish Mammy on it: 'sure, who'd be looking at me?'
I want desperately to see the new Marigold Hotel movie. I loved the first one.
That's it, folks. Tell me what you're up to and if I am the only woman who no longer bothers with much more than eyeliner, a vague brush of the hair and a slick of lip balm in the morning? I once wouldn't leave the premises without a full face ( I love make up) but both the cold and age change that...or is it just me? Still, have to go to London Book Fair soon and need to start practicing in vaguely high heels again. As both my sons are taller/just about to be taller than me, have realised how petite I am. OK, short.
Au Revoir (see, French?!)