Tuesday

Tuesday has been pretty much an extension of Monday, and indeed the hangover of what passed for last week. I can only describe it as a grey cloud hanging over some of the people I know which seems to keep shadowing my days. Except this week the weather has altered considerably also. So a shadow and a dampening. So vests are required along with waterproof shoes and coats.

This morning the clock radio went off - I remembered to set it - unlike Sunday night when Ed Reardon's week on Radio 7 prevented me from doing so.

I awake to the shocking story that EU quotas are preventing fishermen from keeping the fish they catch. So even with nets designed for prawns they are catching cod and turbot and having to put them back. Dead. The humans were worried about livelihoods and supply/demand. I cursed out loud - What about the bloody dead fish? What has the fish ever done. As I trudge to the shower I wonder if fish is now murder too? Oh and the remnants of my headache remain. I went to bed early last night with cooling eye mask and tablets. Despite storm I dropped off straight away. No fish.

Shower. More news. Can McLaren afford to use Robinson in goal tomorrow? Who cares? I make breakfast in between trying to keep my towel in place. I give up and wrap it round my waist. Living alone means you can quite literally wear as much or as little as you like. Breakfast tends not to stray from a set menu. 40g oats, hot water and a Weetabix. Cuppa tea. Bedroom to ponder wardrobe. With rain on my mind I opt for skirt as tights dry quicker than trouser bottoms. I mentally work out my meetings - do I need to look uber smart? or uber feminine? or uber masculine? Oh who notices?

So I dress. Skirt and vest with blouse. Trainers. Scoff breakfast. Dry hair. Clean teeth. Lippy and then the morning ritual. Doors. Windows. Doors. Windows. And again - once more for luck!

I leave early - want to prove to myself I can get in before time. As I approach the tube station there are more people outside than normal. It could only mean one thing. SO I head for the next tube station down the line - worst case I can walk to main line....and so my morning starts at a pace walking. Walking. Rushing to get to work.

I get to Sarf Wombledon and find no queues so try the Misery Line. I get off at Bonk at 9.15am. Its taken an hour to get here. A quick walk to the office dodging the puddles and the brollies. Grr.

And so the daily grind kicks in. The First Man is late as his train was early?! Okay. Apparently its the train companies answer to leaves on the line. Then the First Man had no sleep. I am due to have a meeting with said The First Man at 9.30 to 11am. It lasts until 11.30am and I wonder after it what my role has been. We have though compiled a plan of campaign. I toddle off in search of Christmas lunch money. Yes I am once more in charge of getting the team together for a festive feast.

Lunch is a solitary affair. A jacket spud with tuna. This is me time in prep for a 2 hour mission on Major Project. Security discussions. The I have a one to one with one of my team about Major Project.

Its then time to count Christmas lunch monies and work out who is left to chase. 5.30pm. Home time? Not quite yet. I have questions to ask of First Man. He seems to think there is nothing else for us to talk about so I leave it at that. Skirts see. Women know your place.

I get wrapped up and walk to Waterloo. Over land train and the man opposite me is reading a paper - except the corner of it keeps tickling my knee and I find it slightly irritating. I think I am invisible.

Off at Wombledon and walk home. Cook tea. Watcher Enders. Watch Oz and James California Wine Adventure. Wonder again if I fancy James May or feel sorry for him. Wash up. Spooks. Oh dear. That was all a bit over the top.

Bed. Next. I guess. Take yet more pills as my head ache remains. As does my toothache.

Tomorrow Blog is 2. I have no idea how to mark the occasion.