I am jumping ship for a few days to relocate the family to Devon during the hardest school holiday of the year. Still I don’t reckon the sea will be that cold and there will be plenty of space on the windswept beach to build sandcastles. Failing that, it’ll be the indoor play park for them and large paper for me.
Unless we lose the rugby on Saturday in which case I’ll be instituting a complete media blackout, and pretending I am a South African for the next four years.
And although whitespace probably has more amusing content that anything I write, the virtual press waits for no one and a couple of articles will magically appear during my absence. Well not magically because teleporting is still a young science but I’m sure you get my drift.
Before I leave this evening, I need to cull my inbox with extreme prejudice, complete the twenty tasks I airily promised to have done today, remove the forks on one bike and ship them to a proper repairer, sort out my brothers bike which he is finally taking ownership of after leaving it with me for two weeks, four years ago and patiently explain to the kids that the equation “Kids Toys for Four days > Volume of car boot” cannot be solved unless I’m wielding the chainsaw of justice.
Better get on with it then.