FURLOUGH

I must have rubbed that Southern Comfort bottle a little too hard last night because a genie popped out to grant me three wishes.  Top of my girlie wish list was ‘Fur. Loads!’ but instead I’ve been granted ‘furlough’.  See this is what happens when you delegate all-important genie-like tasks to those with a limited command of the Queen’s English.

Nevertheless, I’ll be ploughing my own ‘furlough’ for the next few weeks as our company, like many others, has decided to partly shut up shop. 

Yes, yours truly was lucky enough to find Willy Wonka’s golden exit ticket in her breakfast cereal this morning.  We do have breakfast cereal in our house unlike those less fortunate beings out there pretending that milk-soaked pieces of cardboard are a healthy substitute for shredded wheat.  You know who you are, health geeks.  Jeez I hate cereals at the best of times.  At 5.30 this morning, I actually thought the other half had substituted my dry, brown bran flakes with pencil erasers such was the chewiness of the contents of my daily breakfast bowl.  Yuk! 

No more breakfast bowls until the end of May.  Hurrah!  I can now spend my days glued to Netflix, knitting toy ants whilst bingeing on endless packets of Hula Hoops without the smallest pang of guilt and with 80% pay to boot thanks to Chancellor Roland Rat.

Or… I can spend the time productively clearing out clutter, washing smalls, pruning overgrown shrubbery or painting the entrance hallway.  Given the choice, I wonder what you would do?  

PS - Get well Boris!