Dear Frankie
... surely as a bona fide grown up person I shouldn't still have that horrible Sunday night feeling? It's that heady mix of dread and anxiety, creeping up you from around 4pm, like you haven't revised for an important exam. I feel rather sorry for myself, not prepared for the weekend to end, to face work. What a load of old tosh.
I was talking to someone today who exclaimed "It's just a job!"
Agreed, but it was as difficult to explain to her in that moment as it would be to go into the tedious reasons of my 'job hate' on this blog entry.
Especially I am typing next to my 5 year old son who keeps asking me who is married to who on "Strictly Come Dancing".
"No-one".
*Silence* "But you can't dance with someone you are not married to".
"No not really".
*Repeat this conversation x 25*
This surely must help push the Black Dog away until at least the end of Downton Abbey.
You would hope.
Dobson
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