E is for expire

My mother excels herself today in the number of different methods used to try and contact me. I get a text to say that she has e-mailed and the e-mail asks me to text her when it's convenient for her to phone me. I love my mum to bits, but should Cameron get into Number 10, she could be subject to an eco-tax all of her own for the energy expended by her communications.

J picks me up at 6.30pm and takes me to look at her new house. J makes me look like Waynetta Slob, and since moving in last August the place has been gutted, redecorated and organised to a standard Monica Geller would be proud of.

It's lovely to catch up and she tells me that the girls had a get together whilst I was away. Apparently after a few drinks the lap top had come out and they had a group reading of my blog. At this point J shifts uncomfortably in her chair. "H saw the dress you bought" she tells me. "And, well, she came to the conclusion that you had gone away to kill yourself and that the dress was your death outfit". I explode with laughter and wobble on my chair, clinging onto the table for support. Fantastic - despite the fact that H is so wide of the mark, I love the fact that she knows me well enough to realise I would want a fabulous outfit to off myself in.

Katy

(Half Empty of half full?)