On Monday morning – 8 am
I decided to get up with my other half, so he wouldn’t feel so bad about going to work on a dark and damp Monday morning. Probably not that much better for him leaving the warm flat with me perched on the sofa reading a book. But anyway that’s what I did.
When he left I jumped back into bed with a cup of tea and said book (hey, it’s homework)
Imagine my surprise when a skinny Rasta with a yellow hard hat walked passed my window. Our flat is on the second floor.
I had totally forgotten that the building was swarming with Bob The’s putting in double glazing and a new roof. I nearly jumped out of my tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirt. It gave me a right shock. The builder managed not to look at me as he sauntered along the wooden platform. I was just about to strip off and get in the shower. Holy Shit.
But all this paled, as I did, when I realised I’d left my passport in Cornwall. Due to fly to Norway on Weds, this is a fan hitting scenario.
My wonderful Landlady put it in the registered post, due to arrive at 1 today.
It aint here.
After crying on the phone to Royal Mail’s customer service they as good as promised it would be here tomorrow.