A normal Sunday chez Weaver you'd think, but you'd be wrong. Life is so much more complex than you'd ever imagine sometimes and perhaps I'm imagining it but the house does seem to be sinking somewhat - I'll have to draw a 'plimsoll' line around the back wall and find out for myself at some point.
Emma's still paranoid about Connor, we've one of his gigs next week to contend with. The man's self-obessed, boring and gets my back up but at least she has a love life, I fear I threw caution to the wind, knickers to the tsunami and common sense to the mistral when I embarked on my flingette with Mr A which in turn ruined my romance with the wonderful Wilf to die a huge death (a little like the former gentleman in question.)
There was a lovely turtleneck jumper in the colour supplement this morning and what's even better, it was available in seven eye-catching colours, therefore I think I'll dust off my credit card and purchase it. I have my knitted 'costume' to wear to Mr A's memorial service next month, Mother flatly refuses to call a ladies' matching two-piece a 'suit' because as we all know, that garment is exclusively reserved for chaps.
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