I took a sickie of work on Friday and felt terribly guilty about it. I never do that. Since I became a journalist 12 years ago you can count the number of sick days on on hand. Previous to that when I was in the job I loathed, I may have had about one day off a week. I might add that I was genuinely ill - nothing serious mind, just couldn't function. Still doesn't stop you feeling guilty though.
Anyway, it was better to be at home than at work.
Anyway, back today. Everything's gone a bit dull hasn't it? I missed out on going to Paul McCartney with The Urban Woo, as I had a friend coming round. Thinking about it that night I could easily have put them off. Who knows if that opportunity will arise again? Tales of woe all weekend with a friend who let her house out to her former nanny who deliberately wrecked it and stole her furniture. Again, you think you know someone.
The nice bit was lunch at a posh pub with some friends, where one of my courses was simply peas in a pod, raw. Nice, but not quite what I was expecting. My potato and Irish cheese pie was nice though. Mrs F-C and I felt a little jaded from the night before, where, despite my 'illness' we went out with our friends we've not seen since their wedding exactly one year ago. So apologies to GKW and Mrs GKW if we seemed a bit listless.
Anyhoo, lots to look ahead too, so musn't grumble.
3 comments:
I am intrigued as to the reason for your sickie, and expect a no-holds-barred confession on Thursday...
Oh kitten, more I cannot divulge.
We'll have to guess then..
Was it Nobbies?
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