Location: Cornwall, United Kingdom

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Midweek angst

It's Weds evening, and S just volunteered to go to Sainsbury's to get the eggs G said we needed; came back with two bottles of wine, some beers and fruit and veg. Said he queued for ages then realised he'd forgotten the eggs. The football's on tonight, and G reckons he's incapable of watching it without alcohol. He has been quite good on the cutting down on drink this last couple of weeks, I suppose, but G feels he's weakening. Has the moral rectitude of a biro.

G can't understand why it's necessary to watch England now they've qualified for the World Cup. He rambled on about the need to ensure the collective lack of confidence in the team's recent displays is seen to dissipate, or some such rubbish. I reckon it's just an excuse to drink midweek. He puts it down to excessive strain at work, but he doesn't know what angst is; I have to guard the house all day. Not easy when you're deaf.

G left at 5am yesterday to get the plane to Bristol. The return flight was cancelled because of fog, so she had to be bussed back, and didn't get in till 1 am. So now his line is that he is tired through being woken so early, then staying up late waiting for her. He was in bed when she got in though, so she wasn't over-impressed.

My anti-arthritis drug seems to be working, but I've got the most awful itchy skin. He keeps throwing cushions at me in the night, saying I'm keeping him awake with my licking and nibbling at my toes. It's not my fault: if he bought the decent drugs they'd stop the itching as well as the ache in my joints. Skinflint. Serves him right if I nibble.

He has to go now: footy's about to start. Can't miss that, can we? Oh, no. Self, self, self.