Terrible weekend. Friday night's chicken madras disagreed with me and upset my stomach for the entire Bank Holiday weekend; I've never noticed before that there was such an echo in the downstairs loo. Still, I will spare you all the details.
I finally surfaced just after lunch on Tuesday, only to get my eyes raped when I visited AccountingWeb (I have also since developed a repetetive strain injury by constantly having to click on "Load more" every time I come back out of having read a question, incidentally). I managed to tone the gawdiness down quite quickly though, thanks to Google Chrome.
Wednesday I was off to visit my client Mary (you know, the sheepfarmer). She has turned out to be a right cow; she disagrees with everything I tell her. Anyway, I visited her at home for the first time, and she has a lovely garden; I felt compelled to ask her for a few horticultural tips. I do wish I had not; she rambled off some nonsense about maids and cockerels and bells. Made no sense to me whatsoever, although that might partly be due to the quadruple vodka that I had had for my breakfast.
Yesterday and today I have just been sunning myself in the garden, on account of Wednesday having been so stressful.
And ce soir, Luce and I are planning to paint the town a garish shade of crimson, with a super large font.
Tata underlings.