Monday 9th December 2019

Its good to be back home and going to work, for the rest!

Phew, that was quite the weekend.

And now, Monday.

I wish I could say there was something exciting that happened, or that I achieved something sensational. But apart from getting up, that was about the most amazing thing I did.

I woke up with my shoulder killing me, so that might explain my poor night's sleep and why I feel so tired. And that means no phys either.

That the pain melts away soon after my second coffee and I really could have done some, but my heart wasn't in it.

My heart's not in it, he said eating another Kit Kat....

Better go to work then, he thought.

This means taking one of the dining room chairs away, setting up the spare screen, keyboard and connecting everything.

And cease firing, we're going in! And then there is the jolt surprise now I'm off the project, so Monday doesn't bring 150 unread mails any more. There's some spam, and that's eat. That means there is nothing stopping me from getting down and fulfilling my intended tasks for the day. Nothing other than my terminal procrastination, of course.

Oh look, a bird out of the window.

Half an hour passes.

That kind of thing.

Oh, its nearly daylight, does that mean its lunchtime?

Must be.

Lunch is some kind of middle eastern things, warmed in the oven. And cheese and sun dried tomatoes. Red wine would be perfect with these.

Not at ten on a Monday.

Why not? would make Monday better. Indeed it would.

And into the late morning. Early afternoon, and productivity is going through the ceiling. I mean floor.

Mulder brings me in a mouse for second lunch. Which was nice. Of him. I don't eat it, as the mouse was still twitching. I put it back outside hoping it would recover. Ads if by a miracle.

It could happen.

It gets dark, I pack away the work stuff, and prepare the beef for dinner. A full roast on a Monday. With all the trimmings and Yorkshire puddings.

And soon the kitchen is filled with the smells of sizzling roasting beef. Yummy.

I have chilled a bottle of pink fizz too, because we're worth it.

And once Jools is home, the beef is done and rested, the vegetables steamed, the potatoes boiled and roasted, the Yorkies all risen, Jools can open the fizz and I serve it all.

Year, Monday, we salute you!

And I am treated to an evening of football, with Wet Sham plying the Arse. Did I say treated, I meant suffered. The worse game of the season limps on like a Jim Davidson joke. Only funnier.