Last night, via messenger, my son asked me what I was up to today... and I replied that I had only two things planned... the first, at 10am, was meeting up with some fellow artists to install the remaining art work on a cafe gallery wall, then, at 1.30pm, our knit and natter group get together, which required a little bit of baking. Other than that - nothing out of the ordinary, then as an afterthought, I mentioned - but usually 'something happens' along the way. My son agreed, that yes, with me, something usually happens.
And so it did...
Wave husband bye as he goes to work, set up laptop to start printing the remaining labels for the art on the walls. Search for notes sent to me from the artists concerned ... initially quite casually, then a little more determinedly when I realise I am not sure by which electronic method the notes have been sent.
Stick the kettle on and continue to search, then remember that the information came via my cell phone. Sigh of relief as I reach for the phone, make a coffee and sit down at the laptop... switch on phone .... nothing ... sigh (this time not of relief but exasperation), get back up, look for phone charger, plug in - start again.
Locate info, start typing - realise that I promised to wake other son so he could get on with his swotting (History A level exam looming on the horizon) so I call up the stairs and get a grumpy baritone grumble back confirming he'd like a coffee too.
Make him a brew, get back to the laptop, continue typing. The laptop is being a little 'otherwise' so let it get itself together, set up printer ready for the labels, quick slurp of getting cold coffee, quick look at the time, even quicker groan when I notice that I have less than half an hour before the meeting.
Back to the laptop which, as soon as I press a key, has a melt down, turning the screen first black then that heart sinking 'blue screen' warning that makes you recoil in horror and wonder whether to call the fire brigade, the coast guard or .... even consider asking your teenager-computer techie to hurry up and get dressed and help fix the laptop. Then realise that the same aforementioned teenager was still in bed - yell again, this time with a little bit of force. Get another grumble reply in return.
Fortunately the final option was not needed, as I manage to make the laptop work. Hastily print the outstanding paperwork, shove into a bag and gallop out with minutes to spare. Stride down to the cafe, late, where other artists are already waiting, sit in a seat and gratefully have a volcanically hot caffe latte handed to me. Only to realised that half my printed notes were missing.... presumed lost at the great laptop crash from half an hour ago.
Gallop out of the cafe - leaving startled artists wondering at my sanity, wave at and get waved back by various villagers as I steam up the road back to the house, crash through the back door and turn on the laptop ... which slowly 'wakes up' while I pace up and down alternating hissing encouragement with cusses as I try to speed it up. Eventually EVENTUALLY it switches on, I hurriedly re-type and print the missing notes, notice the distinct lack of teenager, shrug and leave at high speed.
Wave at and be waved back by the same bemused villagers and arrive back at the cafe out of breath, wild eyed and wild haired but triumphant. Flump back into the seat, glug the now cooled caffe latte. Cut and stick up the labels below the now displayed art, step back and photograph the wall for the facebook page, sigh a sigh of relief and finish the coffee. Catch up quickly with arty gossip, say good bye. Head for home.
Except - see a villager I have to speak to and divert over to him. So, half an hour later - head for home (again). Notice the distinct lack of teenager, shrug and down load photos for our webpage - laptop recalcitrant but working.
Remember that I need to make scones for the knit and natter group and head into the kitchen. Suddenly teenager appears - timing seems to be linked to activity in the kitchen... make lunch for us both, start scones, wapp them with a flourish into the hot oven, feel slightly chuffty wuffty with one's self, eat lunch, wash up, get ready as first the kitchen, then the house fills with the delicious scent of warm scones.
Refresh make-up - drop mascara brush on the floor, via the kitchen counter and bouncing across Himself's mug. Wash thick black marks off the floor, mug and surfaces, then find it on hands - wash them too ... sigh.
Remove perfect looking scones from the oven, cool as quickly as possible, slather on cream cheese and raspberry jam (yes I know, I know - CREAM CHEESE), carefully put into a tub and head to the car. Suddenly remember I promised a piece of slate for a fellow artist - gallop off to my studio, select hopefully a good piece, gallop back to the house, give it a perfunctory scrub, leap back into the car and go.
Arrive at knit and natter late, gratefully have a mug of tea handed to me and equally gratefully take a nibbly bit of baking to go with the tea. Feel a little cheeky at taking one of my own scones but after being surrounded by their mouthwatering scent at home - I could not resist.
Sink back into the seat, take a large mouthful ... chew. YUCK!
Spit out a salty salty scone.
Spill a teaspoons worth of jam firstly down my dress and onto the host's carpet.
Leap up to the kitchen, clean dress, scrub carpet, wizz around to other knitters and whisk away any scones on plates whilst apologising profusely.
Note that some knitters make point of tasting the offending items, chew, nod and agree that yes the scones are rather salty.
Get home, exhausted by today's 'happenings', try to plan what to cook for supper and decide to attempt the scones for a second time today as I'd promised Himself scones and I can't give him the salty sea-dog rejects. Start baking, put on kettle just as he walks through the door - make him a brew and watch him drink from a mug still slathered in mascara.
Ps edited to add - I forgot that ..
1. I was bitten yesterday by something small with very sharp teeth and my right foot alternately glows brightly and hotly or itches like a scabby dog with a flea infestation, so finding the right footwear was difficult. I had to resort to a pair of sensible brown shoes and socks with my floral summery dress only to be met by everyone by a hello and their eyes drop to my feet and their eyebrows lift somewhat, even Himself who is almost (almost) immune to my shenanigans said something... and ...
2. My mother looking at me at knit and natter and ask ... have you had your hair cut? Yes, about 10 days ago ....