Of course one consequence of getting up late and rushing in was not taking/having the time to make lunch. Luckily Albert provided (all the while grumbling about losing trade and considering retiring when we move buildings). Trouble is, I am now having serious problems resisting the purchase of a second creme egg for the day. I am doing my best, but don't expect to be able to hold out much after three o'clock.
The situation is not helped by the fact that Joan is off today and trying out our new breadmaker at this very moment. OK, so the finished loaf won't actually be ready until I get home from work but the thought of it is making my taste buds tingle. Why do I let my stomach rule me this way?
I wonder if any one would miss me if I went over to Dove Street for a nap.