It was all going really well. Far too well, now I look back upon it.
I’d fixed the shelves in the boy’s bedroom (although I did use my swearing quota for the month while doing so), I’d been to the gym and nailed a reasonable cardio workout, I had even gone and done the odd jobs I had promised to do at the mother-in-law’s place.
I deserved brandy and football.
But the brandy is (apparently) alcoholic, and I’m trying to be a good boy as far as alcohol goes this week. It’s one of those things I try to do every now and again that (sadly) does actually make me feel a bit healthier and ever so self-righteous. I’ll miss it, but at least there’s still the football.
And then came the threat of loadshedding. On a football night:
As I write, the threat hasn’t materialised, but if it does materialise, the first you’ll know about it is an abrupt
end to this post. My zone is scheduled to go off for the whole of the first half (and some of the second half) of all of the Europa League quarter finals. That would almost certainly mean having to dip into the May swearing allowance.
And probably some brandy for good measure.