It's a big week next week. Really big.
The Boy is 17. That's the last one before he's officially grown up. And only a year to go before he can take me down the pub and buy that pint I've been demanding for some years now.
It will also be the first birthday where I've not been there to celebrate with him. Tuesday is my first Olympics rehearsal. From 5.30 through to 9.30. Not surprisingly I'm rather excited. Not surprisingly I still haven't shaken off the cough and cold that laid me low last weekend, so I'll be wheezing around the studio trying not to look like I'm breathing my last. To celebrate I bought a new pair of trackie bottoms...probably the first pair I've bought for 35 years. And the last ones I ever will.
Before then I'm at a property tribunal fighting the cause against a greedy, avaricious, deceitful and dishonest freeholder. To make sure I'm best placed to win my case, I asked a solicitor to prepare the paperwork whilst I was on holiday and submit according to the timetable we'd been given. That was a couple of weeks ago....yesterday I received a call to say the paperwork was not correct. I spent the morning getting it right and taking it to the Tribunal, but the reality is there's a reasonable chance my case will simply be thrown out. Depressing. Expensive. I may have to sue the solicitors. That won't be good for my well being. I'll know more on Monday.
And before then we have some friends down for the weekend. It's a busy schedule starting tonight. Tonight we're seeing the Damien Hirst exhibition, and then off for a meal. Beyond that I don't know: The Cat's Mother never tells me anything, and when she does I don't listen. It's a dangerous combination.
The Cat's Mother says that I should check the You Tube video I put up. Evidently, the Shirley and Shirley one yesterday is inappropriate. As is Ginger Blush. As is Richard Herring. But you're safe watching the Frisky and Mannish one. Anyway, I'm not listening.
