22.9.14

Monday, Monday..


I'm determined to write in this blog, even if it means writing when I have nothing to write. And - guess what? Today's one of those days. Aren't you lucky? 

I'm sitting at my dining table, waiting for a man named Colin to come and connect us to the wonderful world of the internet. We thought we might be able to cope by tethering our respective devices to the TV and just using our mobile data allowance, but that idea swiftly got thrown out of the window when streaming just one teeny episode of Bake Off rinsed my month's data allowance. 

So here I am, waiting for Colin, who said he'd be with us between 5 and 7pm. Then he said 8pm. It's now 8.30 and Colin has made nary an appearance. I feel for Colin, I really do. He put a leaflet through our door advertising himself as Virgin Media's 'local representative'. And the leaflet advised we could call him any time between 8am and 10pm, 7 days a week, which seemed...desperate. So we took pity in him. His other jobs this evening are in Leatherhead and Kingston. 'Local' they ain't. Poor Colin. 

But also, poor us. Because I've spent the last two hours making a moussaka, and I'm waiting until he's gone to eat it because I know the second we put the first forkful to our mouths the doorbell will ring.  

I was all set to bake some nice granola bars too this evening but then I realised we only had a third of the required amount of butter. So no granola bars here. Wow, this really is a boring post. 

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I'm not sure why I expected Colin to be a hapless, balding man in his 50s, trying to scrape together the means to clothe his many children. He was about 25, and Scottish. We don't talk so much about the Scots since last week's referendum. I'm not really sure what I should be saying. I'm walking on eggshells, like in the aftermath of a really awful couple's row. 

I should really liven up this post with photos,shouldn't I? 

So... Moussaka. 



Matt pronounced it "some good sh*t" so I must be on to a winner. 



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