Ecover "Festive Cookie" scented washing up liquid (free, I would not deliberately buy such a thing) is not at ALL festive. It is vile.
Foul mood, half weeping, half self-loathing with trace elements of muttered 'I hate everyone' (present company excepted). I can only assume hormonal + the meaningless construct that is blue Monday + endless night/rain/murk + hugely ill-advised attempt at "healthy eating", after seeing some truly foul and unflattering pictures of my jowls and dry porridge face at the weekend. Jesus, I must never restrict my food intake, I become truly psychotic.
Children quite naughty this evening, especially during an idiotic stand off over sofa seating. I have not come out of this with much dignity or authority, especially during this part:
Me: Just move, will you.
L: Why should I? I'm sitting here now.
Me: You nicked his seat!
L: It's my seat now.
Me: Yes, well, that's not how civilised people behave with sofas (wow, great line, me. Sizzling repartee).
L: .... ('whatever, bish' face)
Me: L, you've got 30 seconds to move, or you're going to your room.
Nothing happens. 20 seconds pass as I sit looking pointedly at my watch.
L: How long have I got left?
Me: (disconcerted) 5 seconds.
L waits another 3 seconds then shifts a slow, deliberate, grudging 20 cm.
Me (impotently): Oh, very bloody clever.
Storms into kitchen to bang some pans. Is ignored by everyone.
Oh yes, this was good. Woke up this morning covered in brown stains. Moment of terror, followed by the realisation that I had SLEPT ON A CHOCOLATE SQUARE. Have had to change the bed, most loathed of tasks. Also, who sleeps on a chocolate square and doesn't realise? This is no princess and the pea scenario.
I have made a nice fire and none of the neighbours has called the fire brigade this time.
A single optimistic snowdrop out in the garden.
Have not actually killed anyone.
We have managed to extricate the chewed up dog shit bag that has been blocking the washing machine for three weeks and it is working again, praise the Lord.
It is my settled intention to be in bed with a hot water bottle, my Elizabeth Jane Howard memoir (the Cazalet chronicles are basically factual, it transpires!) and NO chocolate squares in the next twenty minutes.
Oh, did you see the latest Facegoop? It's about our LEAST favourite beauty products. Highly therapeutic and a good comments thread, full of shared product loathing and relatively few people asking "did you get paid for this" (answer = no, but we got paid because you clicked on it, so ha ha ha).
I came downstairs on Sunday morning to find that L had dressed the dog up as ... what? Someone from Geordie Shore? A World's Strongest Man candidate? God knows. Oddly enough, Weepette seemed totally fine about it, viewing the whole thing with far more composure than he views, eg, the opening of a cardboard box, or someone uttering the word "Right!". Peculiar beast.
Your Blue Monday verdict?