What a chuffing evening I had last night. Left work about 9pm, having failed to get really focussed and make the extra time really count. Usually on a Monday I slope off home, potter a bit, then wander down to Orgasmic Cafe where I’ll order grub and eat it while the salsa class is on, then grab Kim or Kate and plan the class I’ll teach on Wednesday, and dance till close.

Last night, I hurtled down in the motorcar, paid for parking, saving about 10 minutes’ walking to the venue, got there about 9:20 to be informed the kitchens closed at 9:30. (he goes early to get his bus ffs!). Legged it around town, slug and lettuce usually does food till 10pm but it’s a quiet night, no demand for it. Went to Oscars which I usually like, and got an immense burger which was not even hot enough to melt the cheese on it, cold chips, but onion rings divine enough to stop my throwing my dummy out of the pram, then legged it back to Orgasmic to find that there were perhaps two really decent lady dancers there and no Kate or Kim to plan lessons with.

Ho hum. Having written about all that, I can see it matters not a fig in the grand scheme of things. I think the big problem was the rubbishness of my state of mind due to silly pressures at work, and due to my own weakness.

Speaking of which, why am I writing this when there is a mountain of dung on my desk higher than my head…?

* puts down blog *

* picks up shovel *