Now here’s the thing. I like routine. It keeps me sane. Every morning, my youngest has a nap from 10 ’till about 11.15. Great. In that hour, I write. Or rather re-read what I wrote at 5.30 am and edit the whole lot, but that’s besides the point. Why then does some automated lady insist on phoning me at 10.15, waking up my baby, to tell me that there is blah-di-blah amount of money owing to me following my serious accident? I mean, the last serious accident I had was when I broke two bones in my arm at the age of 7. Well, other than breaking my finger a few years ago trying to show my then boyfriend that I would make a fantastic farmer’s wife and ending up falling from a bale of hay and smashing previously mentioned finger (we’ve been married 8 years in case you’re worried that it all ended horribly wrong). So I seriously doubt that there is money owing to me and to be honest, that free hour in the morning is worth more than a hefty sprinkling of gold dust. Therefore, if any automated phone people happen to stumble across my ramblings, please spare a thought and time your calls better – 3.30pm when I’m on the school run would be delightful :). Now I’m off to make lunch for my very grumbly and grouchy nap-deprived son.
Hwyl am y tro x