My wife has gone back to Cork (or Corckick, as I amusingly call it when pretending to speak Gaelic). For the weekend. I could have gone, but her friends don’t like me. They think I’m bad for her, to her and that I’m generally a bad thing.
The last thing she told me before she walked to Heathrow was not to make a mess of the place. Unfortunately I got in a bad mood with myself last night, principally through boredom, I think, and I had a furious row which involved a few pots and pans flying around as well as the odd plate.
I’ve tidied the place up a bit, though, so everything should be okay, but I just hope I don’t lose my temper with myself again before she gets back.