Dreadful Nonsense

I've just lost a huge post. This was a post that I've been writing since 5 o'clock, since I got back to the house having sat in lines of traffic for ages trying to make it to the gym with my sister, only to be suddenly reminded of the fact that I'm supposed to be at home because my granny is dropping over her mouse-sized dog for me to look after tonight, because I am the best of all grand children. So, to sum up today: I didn't get to go out, because Mrs D cancelled. I didn't get to go to the gym, which I honestly adore doing. I have to sit in the house mouse-sitting the tiny mouse dog who smashes things and barks and howls and runs away when I approach. And then my fabulously hilarious post about how I've successfully given up smoking but miraculously retained the constant craving for cigarettes has disappeared. Lordy.

So what I decided to do was take the two normal sized dogs for a walk down the field, because I thought sitting in some grass with Honey watching Butler run about would be a calming exercise. It really was. I felt relaxed, refreshed, able to face the world once more, even if the world was now throwing mouse-sized dogs at me. But upon our return, what did we find? The mouse-sized dog had wreaked havoc round and about the kitchen area, where I had left her (I thought) safely locked in. She'd pee-ed on the floor. She'd knocked over a plant. She'd smashed a giant ceramic pig. I despair.

Having mused on the topic of smoking, firstly this morning on the phone to the smug JC who, I'm sure, was smoking three cigarettes at one time JUST BECAUSE HE COULD; and then pondered the whole 'giving up' debacle that is my constant case in life right here in the hilarious post that is now lost forever, the moment that the giant ceramic pig looked up at me from it's now many different locations on the kitchen floor, I immediately remembered that I think I may well just have one lovely cigarette stashed away somewhere in my room. In the secret place. Where secret things are kept. Hm.

I aimed a kick at the mouse-sized dog's arse, decided better of it, walked calmly out of the kitchen and away from smashed pig, and then tore up the stairs to see if my inkling was true. Was there a cigarette in my room? Was there? WAS THERE?

Yes.

There was.

It's in my hand now. Unlit. But lovely. Totally stale - it's one given to me by Mrs D many moons ago, when we had been drunk, had been in the company of boys for the night, found ourselves overwrought at the end of the night having missed our last bus and decided To heck with it! and bought a pack of 20 between us. This is the one out of the four I took off her that I've got left. Should I?

(PS - It's important to note that, no matter what happens, I'm going to blog that I didn't smoke it tomorrow morning.)

This entry was posted on 19 May 2004 at 7:20 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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