I was supposed to be going walking today with some people from work - the last I knew was when I left work on Thursday, I was to be picked up from home around 8:30am to drive out to Rosebush for a 10 mile walk in the Preselis followed by a pub lunch. As I was getting stuff together last night I sent a few texts to check that it was still on, with no response. I decided to assume that all was OK and duly got up at 7:45, and got everything ready to go. At 9am nobody had arrived, so I tried phoning. George answered, but I could only just hear him, and couldn't make out what he was saying. I tried again, but got the same. Having not had a return call I'm assuming he's either gone without me or he's not going, and I am really annoyed.
I spent practically the whole day yesterday making sure there was enough bread, and made a casserole to go in the slow cooker - I arranged everything around being out of the house most of today. It was raining when I woke up, but that cleared just after 8. It looks a bit windy but apart from that I can see no reason to cancel. I had suspicions this would happen, which is probably why I'm so pissed off. He's a fickle bastard, and if there was the prospect of doing a walk with female company he'd take that in preference and make sure I didn't get in the way (or any other male, come to that).
Today is "house tidying" day, so I'm going to be made to feel as welcome as a fart in a space-suit at home, oh joy. I'm also pissed off about yesterday, when to make the bread I first had to do a load of washing up, to make the dinner I first had to do a load of washing up, to make today's casserole I first had to do a load of washing up, (do you spot a trend here?), and go out to Tesco around 9pm to buy fucking ONIONS (I ask you), and there's still a pile of washing-fucking-up to be done. I'm afraid that if that's what's expected of me then my dear wife can stop playing at arty crafty things and go get an equally soul-destroying job as mine and bring some fucking money into the fucking house. I could have quite happily slapped her around the face when she announced yesterday that at the craft fair she had made £15 (which is probably about half the amount she spent on fucking materials.)
Am I being selfish? Possibly.
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