Hubs is taking me out of this stinking pit hole of a scrap room to aerate the soul and refresh the mind. **note: Loving my Mark as he applies lippy in a scary shade of rouge. Also, didn't know I smoked nor swigged Guinness so eloquently either. Must diet. Clearly. Oh, and mark has a far more fetching handbag than I - the bitch**
Mark thinks I need a break.
Maybe I do.
But I just love making pretties all day long although I have to admit that my mojo keeps running off out into the garden and hiding amongst my twisted ivy leaves or indeed burrowing its naughty head inside my pant pots.
Last night I found it lurking underneath the ballcock.
No matter where it hides, I find it somehow.
Before we head out I have to share some frighteningly worrying news. I think we are going to buy a tent which would spell that we are in fact going to try out camping.
Did I really just type that?
I thought camping was for..... well, I don't know. I didn't see us as campers.
But, you know......... have dog, will camp.
Its the rules, isn't it?
Thinking about it, we pass a camping shop on the way to our favourite lunchery.
Perhaps that is the master plan.
Romance is officially DEAD.