This is now the third day I've looked after my son Seb in a week, it may not seem like a great deal but for me it's a bit of a record these days. Days have become very routine - breakfast, walk to a local playground (two different ones in two days now - a veritable 'playground crawl'), lunch, baking, TV, reading, maybe even some colouring. I can't say that I hate it but couldn't imagine being a stay at home mum, perhaps that's because I'm a rubbish housewife or hausfrau as the Germans call it. I am looking at the airer which contains a huge pile of ironing, the only way I like to iron is in front of the TV, but there's currently only one set in this house and Seb's currently bagged it.
Mum's taking Seb overnight because Nick's taking me out for a romantic meal. The venue's a secret and he's told me to dress up. Reflecting on my relationship with Nick is quite nice really, it contains none of the fireworks, worry and passion of my late husband, which can only be a good thing.
I don't think I've ever said how I met Roger Cuffley, well it was back in late 1994 I'd completed my secretarial studies and it was difficult to find a job during that particular recession. Anyway, Roger, I and about 150 other recruits began work at the records department of a huge central Government Department; he was a recent graduate, ambitious and looking to progress, I just wanted a job. He worked in a section which mended broken microfiche records (we are talking about the late twentieth century here!) which I'd wittily dubbed 'Peter's Poking Section' (you clearly had to be there to understand that joke). On first acquaintance he was darn cute, brown hair and eyes, olive skin, medium build and a cheeky demeanour - I was hooked. Sadly, he had a long-term girlfriend and that was that really. I'll fill you in with the rest of the story during a later post - the ironing pile's calling me.
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