Am woken up by Sophie who wants to know if I want to come to her cricket coaching session. After the rigours of yesterday my body is wracked in the most horrible pain. Every movement brings more agony and I start to become aware that you can't turn an ageing body onto full blast like a switch.
I slide myself gracelessly out of bed and slump in front of the telly. There's cricket on and it's a whole lot easier to watch than to play.
S returns and eventually we depart to search out a birthday present for H. we get to B&Q and choose a mosaic table for out on the garage balcony, which hasn't quite fallen down yet. Job done we then by a few books and a Neil Diamond cd. It'll be nice if Mary Shuttleworth ever visits.
Whilst shopping S reveals that she has been appointed (or elected, I forget which) deputy head girl. What a fantastic achievement, the first time an outsider (that's to say someone who joined at 6th form stage) has achieved such a distinction. What a clever, brilliant girl she is.
I cook the dinner, grunting in pain every time movement is called for,and dish it up to my trio of ladyfolk, Dan being absent at a music festival in Donnington.
After this, as is often the case on a Sunday, I am fit for little but comatose rolling around on the couch. I then drag myself upstairs and lie in the bath for hours. Dan returns. Apparently it is gone one.
The warm water has helped but certainly not cured me, and now I realise that I have to assemble the bloody table and chairs. It's gone three before this is finished. Oh God!
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