I've just spent an hour trying to compose my blog, but I am so tired my eyes can no longer see properly. I was trying to work in a witty and relevant way of saying that I have only had two lie-ins in three-and-a-bit years and one of those was last week.
I was supposed to be having another one this morning, but actually ended up doing an hour's sorting / making drinks / scraping a turd off the carpet (Huw will insist on sitting in the patch of sunshine at the top of the stairs) before I was allowed to sneak back into bed - and a lie-in after you have already been up, doesn't really count.
My point was that rather than the writing habits of the rich and successful, which always seem to revolve around muesli in the conservatory and walking the spaniels, I have to sneak mine in where it is possible. I am hopeful that this new Sunday morning lie-in pattern will continue, as I got a good old chaptersworth done of my new masterpiece. Sleeping through a lie-in seemed to be a bit of a waste really.
However, when I came downstairs and found everyone sat on the sofa in their pyjamas watching bloody Corra of all things with the carpet covered in cous cous as Charlotte had been making lasagne again, my writing bliss of earlier all disappeared into a haze.
But, the good thing about today was that I got into The Observer. I had written a piece for their My Crap Holiday slot, for which I will get a first aid kit! If anyone has today's Observer down the back of their sofa, see page ten of the Escape bit!
Anyone who has been on holiday with me, is probably suitably qualified to write about their crap holiday, so might be worth a shot. Apparently it's a good first aid kit...
More (and hopefully better) tomorrow good folks.