Being a Friday it is wall to wall meetings, from eight in the morning until lunchtime.
Brace yourself.
But I was pooped apparently. I wasn't roused by the alarm and lay in bed until nearly quarter past six, nearly lunchtime.
And with my head feeling like it was stuffed with straw and my legs heavier than if they were cast from lead, I did not do a session on the cross trainer: I'll do one later I said, convincing no one, including myself.
Jools has made me a coffee, and then she is all a whirl getting dressed, making the beds and getting ready to go to Tesco.
I manage to put my trousers on and plug in the work laptop, log on and change the password.
Is it the weekend yet?
No. We have to talk about audits for 75 minutes. Not that there is much to talk about, but we do string it out until tempers frey and I make repeated calls for the meeting to end.
It does.Jools returns with shopping and kitty food. None of us shall starve.
We put it away in time for me to have my weekly meeting with my boss, then there is the new weekly update from my bosses boss regarding the takeover: there is no news.
But at least there are meetings and we are ket informed of the lack of news.
We have lunch, a brew, and by two there are few in work, so I send a final e mail and log off and watch another podcast.
Needless to say I didn't do a session on the cross trainer. We put the radio on and groove to the tunes before I cook chorizo hash for dinner, opening a large bottle of tripel.It was dark, but was also the weekend.
Use it well.
I have become a subscriber to a podcast, and the makers do a popquiz on Friday evenings, so I take part and do poorly.
But it was to be expected.
I finish my beer, the whole bottle. With no football to watch, I go to bed to finish reading WSC and Rail.
Outsdie the wind and rail howled and hammered on the windows.
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