Weary with hunting an' I fain would lie down

[muninnhuginn]

As the day approaches the multi-cliche (no I can't remember where the e-acute has gone!) point, I know I left school carrying Looby Loo's cardigan as well as the rest of her clobber (and the umbrella... and the doorkey... ) but I didn't have it when I got home. Retracing our steps ("Go back! Go back! Go back! Go back to where you were!" to quote the immortal Blue's Clues) produced no tangible result save sympathy from a retired dinner lady.

Still, we'll get something extra next week to replace the sadly furry raspberries (that ought to be a band's name) in yesterday's fruit 'n' veg box.

And the bread machine's attempt at sabotaging last night's loaf didn't deprive us of an adequate, if stocky, supply of bread.

And the sun is out and it no longer rains in the kitchen. The letter to thefirst salvo in the war against the neighbours is unsenthas yet to be fired.

And yet, the words "unmitigated" and "disaster" and "incandescent" and "rage" keep pairing themselves off for some kind of dance in my brain.

Enough. Now I can stand by the sink without an umbrella, I ought to wash up and cook supper.