Slow Learner

I should have known better. (Isn't it funny how almost everything reminds you of a song: "Shoulda known better than to lah lah lah"?). After missing my overnight trip to London I thought I was better, but the thing has a kick to it yet. Mother's Day in Cambridge didn't help, what with the champagne and then the white Burgundy, and then the St Emilion. I came back on Monday after a shopathon in John Lewis, and followed that with a drive to Ipswich, most difficult-to-negotiate town in the country, and thought I must be over it finally. Which was why I went down the garden this morning an hour before going off to play bridge, armed with a saw and a pair of stout gloves. I felled another tree, but if it looked pitiful lying there on the ground, branches akimbo, I looked worse. I managed to struggle back to the house, and sat down to recover. But when I looked at the clock I knew I had to ring Helen and cancel. Whatever possessed me? And now I'm shattered again, too tired even to knock the top off a pint bottle of Adnam's Broadside which I'd been looking forward to all day. Big sigh.

I have beautiful flowers to look at anyway and cheer myself up with. Mother's Day might be an artificial construct designed by the card and flower industries to make money for themselves, but it certainly provides the feel good factor.