I hate mornings

He left the house at 6:34 this morning. By many people's standards an early start. But far from everyone ordinarily is still tucked up at that time. When I worked in London I was up not long after 5:00 to shower and dress and make the 5:40 train: that was in the days when I was the breadwinner and he was the sloth camped on my lounge room floor.

The real problem with the 6:34 departure is not that it isn't in its own right early enough - it is that he's supposed to be clocked in by 6:00 and ready at that time to start work.

Loo seat up date is no change. He obviously still hasn't recovered from the stress of doing the right thing those few times at the beginning of the year. No doubt he thinks I'm insane, scurrying about behind him with gloves and disinfectant - or perhaps he just thinks that if he behaves like a shit for long enough I will crack up.

Fat chance; I've got his measure now.

So I'm going to have a shower and get dressed... being up this early myself gives me a chance to get myself sorted before the offspring start to emerge from beneath the bedding.

No doubt there'll be more crap along sooner or later