I am not a morning person.
Now that might seem a little at odds with the fact that I'm an early riser.
The truth is that until I've had my two cups of tea I don't want to see, speak or share the same air with anyone so I like getting up early to avoid having to resist the urge to rip peoples heads off.
This morning was no exception. I woke up just after 6 and so far I've baked a cake for a friends Birthday.
Hung 2 loads of washing on the line.
Have a monster chicken cooking in the oven as the Birthday friend and others are over for dinner.
And decided it was about time I dyed my hair (it says iced chestnut - I'm guessing it'll be red again ;).
All a little before 8:30.
So, why am I telling you this?
Do I wish to hear gasps of awe at my productivity my get up and go?
(It is after all Saturday morning, I could still be in bed doncha know.)
Well, ok go on then, if you insist ;)
But, nope, that's not the reason.
I am inside now, curled up in a corner, rocking backwards and forwards with complete humiliation when I should be sitting in the sun drinking coffee and admiring my washing blowing in the breeze.
So, what happened?
My bloody neighbours that's what!
Don't get me wrong, I like my neighbours. In fact, on one side my neighbours are bloody gorgeous!
3 young, extremely fit (in every respect) guys who are much too young for me to be having impure thoughts about which is why I don't tend to blog about them, you don't need know that on occasion (one in particular has a weights bench in the garden and by climbing over Miss Macs bed with one foot on the window sill and hanging on to the wardrobe door) I can accidentally observe him working out.
Anyway, chicken in oven, cake cooling ready to ice, hair full of dye and wearing the funky monkey dressing gown (which does get the occasional mention here but which until now you have never seen) I went out to hang the second load of washing on the line.
|yes, it's short!|
My garden is in tiers. The top level which is where the washing line is looks down into next doors garden consequently, they can see me.
I was busy pegging out sheet when, horror of horrors I heard one of the neighbours unlocking their back door.
There was one sheet left in the basket and I estimated that I probably had time to peg it out and leg it down the the garden before anyone saw me in a dressing gown designed for a 12 year old, no make up and hair that looked like a walnut whip like piled up on top of my head full of dye (no, you dont get a photo of that!).
Of course I fumbled, I dropped the sheet, the walnut whip collapsed over my face and I got dye in my eye which really bloody hurts!
As I picked up the sheet I somehow managed to gather up the bottom of funky monkey with it and, as my neighbour appeared, cup of tea in hand, I lifted the whole bloody lot revealing that fuck!!!.
I wasn't wearing anything underneath.
He looked at me, I squinted back at him, he carefully placed his cup of tea on the garden table, turned, walked back into the house and locked the door!
I am putting the house on the market!