Work, work, work

Just in case there are millions of people waiting with bated breath (or even bad breath) for the latest news on my life, I am happy to inform you that I'm back at work after the festive break. Not happy to be back at work, merely happy to inform you. That may seem a disservice to my colleagues, as I'm part of a brilliant team which functions on a constant supply of sweets and, for the New Year, a weekly Thursday jaunt. Today we played darts in a central London pub, although in fairness some of the darts did land in outer London. I had the great honour of being on the triumphant (read, less abysmal) team, and I also fluked a double-19 checkout, the only winning double of the day. (The other three games were all settled when we gave up and allowed checkout with a single. That's how inept we were.)

Also today, Sarah picked me up from the station after I hurt my knee walking up some stairs. The lift was good because it avoided heavy rain but the injury is bad because I'm supposed to be taking Adam ice-skating on Saturday. Sarah also almost crashed at one of the mini-roundabouts which blight the route home. This is worth mentioning because in the preceding two days I'd had three near misses on them, on my bike. One was down to a blind corner and me not allowing enough time for my new brakes to do their job, but two were drivers deciding they had right of way even though I was already on the roundabout. I fear it is only a matter of time before one of these morons knocks me off or I am provoked into damaging an encroaching vehicle. Yesterday I could have quite easily taken the old codger's wing mirror off as I caught up at the next lights but settled for sarcastically waving at him through the window.

It was a sad moment in the household this weekend just gone as we took down all the Christmas decorations. Well, not all, as some of them never made it up in the first place. The neon bell fell victim to my lack of a ladder (and my being too ill to go and borrow one) whilst we didn't have a means to attach the rope light to anything. With a smugness remarkable in a four-year-old, Adam suggested nailing it to the wall. Anyway, the departing tree left a large gap and the living room seemed empty. Seconds later I shifted my gaze about two feet to the pile of books, toys, boxes, cushions and CDs stuffed behind the armchair and suddenly the room didn't seem empty after all. In fact it's a miracle we found room for the tree in the first place.

Tomorrow all sorts of things are happening which I will write about, well, once they've happened.

Andrew's money-saving tips #4: Save money by not buying presents for long-distance friends; instead claim they must have been lost in the post.