Being forgetful does have its advantages.
The builders have been in for two days, and already I have forgotten what the old kitchen looked like, although I will post some ‘before’ and ‘after’ photos once we get past ‘during’.
In the middle of writing a Not-Particularly-Important email to mum and dad yesterday everything went quiet and electric-free. In the blink of an eye I was liberated of the need to write, but couldn’t remember being asked whether I minded.
I didn’t mind, as I spent most of the rest of the day on the phone. But I made a mental note to not try emailing or using the computer at times when the front door is open and people are at the back of the house being paid to make it look like a ruin.
I did forget to do the washing and go shopping, but as my brother and sister-in-law are letting us use their washing-machine and they live near a 24-hour supermarket I managed a very late night run. I forgot that we are away at the weekend and bought rather a lot of comfort food. Too bad.
This morning I nearly forgot to get up, but as the radio had been re-set to Radio 2 instead of Radio 3, I listened to the songs until I realised the boy had already been up for hours. (He had been taking old kitchen units apart in the cellar). I even found Terry Wogan funny, which says something about what pregnancy has done to me. However, I was up in time to greet the sparky twenty minutes later.
He’s a lovely bloke and is the dad of one of my tutor group and another girl I teach, both of whom are wonderful to have in a class. Not just typically polite and keen, but able to share a joke and responsible beyond their years. Yesterday the electrician said he was sure he knew me. I’ve met many people (including when I worked in a prison) so wasn’t sure how to answer on this occasion. He realised that I was a teacher and put two and two together before I did.
When he told his older daughter last night that he was working for a Mrs R—–, she didn’t remember who I was. I’m glad it’s not just me!
jam and giraffes 