I’m awake and look it… just. Thanks to piles of crumpets, some loose foundation and gallons of tea, I am apparently ready for another 12½ hours of grind. I wouldn’t mind so much either if I wasn’t leaving a big lump of sleeping husband in the bed, who will inevitably text me at around ten this morning, singing the praises of flexible working hours, and the advantages in waiting until the sun has melted a little of the ice off his car. Roll on Thursday. I swear I’m going to sleep until noon with my phone on so he can hear me snore!

I’m not jealous… who said that?

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