The vacation

So, last night I drank an entire bottle of champagne (minus one glass) to celebrate having a week off work. I woke up (not to the sound of an iphone xylophone) but various street noises at roughly 11am. (I have not slept past 7am in about a month.) I then sat on my kitchen floor and watched my chocolate chip brioche toast under the grill whilst I sipped my coffee. I decided I was going to have a productive day so set about planning the various bits and bobs I wanted to do. Firstly, I ignored the pile of dishes, and like a good wife washed a mountain of clothes instead. Next, I collected squares of fabric from my craft room and ironed them into a nice little bundle so my friend could experiment on her new sewing machine. Then I drew space invaders all over my shower door whilst I was doing bath time. (Like you do.) Then I made a cake fork pouch my mother had requested as a gift for a friend. Then I made a giant piece of "paper" with calico and sewed an extract from the story I am writing (complete with illustration) all the while raiding my fridge of pickles and yoghurts and listening to caravan palace songs and dancing round my house in intervals. Then I cleaned up my mess, had some dinner, read my book and now its the end of my first vacation day.