This week has been the week from hell. No, really, the worst so far this year (yes, I know it's only March). It has been a week of unprecedented disasters.
This is how the week was supposed to look:
Sunday: Meeting with PhD supervisors during which I would convey my erudite and original ideas for my research proposal whilst cultivating a friendly and mutually respectful exchange.
Monday: Parents evening at secondary school. Teachers would confirm our choices for GCSE options, assuring us of our educated and well informed decisions.
Tuesday: Reading group. Lovely evening with a few friends to raise and discuss profound questions about last month's book.
Wednesday: Highlight of the week: visit arranged by me, to my place of work, of eminent British Detective fiction writer (who shall remain nameless but who writes a very famous series of novels featuring a detective in Scotland). Director would be impressed with my organisational skills and bask in the kudos of opportunity to meet such a famous and charming author. This is followed by 1 hour meeting at secondary school to discuss forthcoming trip to Tanzania for No 1 child to iron out any small wrinkles.
Thursday: Visit to local Dr of dermatology for removal of two moles - a small procedure one has undergone before - relatively painless and minor. This is followed by girls night in at BFF's house - wine flowing, food delicious, riotous company.
This is how the week actually went:
Sunday: Soul destroying meeting with PhD supervisors in which I manage to convey not only my utter incompetence but also my general demeanour of sheer panic.
Monday: Parents evening resembles a rugby scrum in which 5 minute appointments are allocated for 10 minute chats and everyone is behind by 30 minutes into the sequence. Teachers all assured in the belief that THEIR subject is the most important and suitable for No 1 child. Leave totally unsure of GCSE option choices.
Tuesday: Reading group meeting. Most people hate the book. We discuss it for 5 minutes and spend the other 175 minutes drinking wine and laughing raucously. Stagger home and await the arrival of the hangover that will pervade the VERY IMPORTANT DAY tomorrow.
Wednesday: Up at the crack of dawn and into work at stupid o'clock. Driver takes me to hotel to collect eminent author. Arrive at hotel 45 minutes early. Have lovely cup of coffee in lounge. Wait in lobby for eminent author with lovely lady from Literature Festival who is accompanying him. He doesn't show. I panic. I have the Vice Chancellor, the Deputy Vice Chancellor, the Director and about 60 other people awaiting eminent author back at GCHQ. It transpires that eminent author has been given wrong schedule and is currently in the elevator with his wife at the tallest building in the world, the Burj Khalifa. I manage to convince festival organisers to allow me to fetch eminent author. Driver takes us to largest mall in the world and I walk the length of it, in three inch heels, to collect eminent author who is understandably, somewhat flummoxed. Wait 15 minutes for driver to find us on other side of world's biggest mall. Arrive at place of work 45 minutes late, stressed out and mortified in embarrassment. Talk by author absolutely hilarious and worth the wait.
Death by meeting to discuss Tanzania trip simply goes over previous information sent by email; my mobile phone goes off just as they are explaining that pupils cannot take their mobile phones on the trip. I apologise profusely and die of embarrassment for the second time today. My humiliation is complete.
Thursday: Procedure to remove moles agonisingly painful. It transpires that as moles are on back, I now cannot bend. So dressing, particularly putting on one's shoes or knickers becomes a triumph of ingenuity and yoga style stretching without bending. Cannot move without pain from barbed wire type stiches in back.
Arrive home to find cat very ill. Rush to vets. He has temperature of 40 degrees and bowel obstruction. Vet keeps him for x ray and telephones to inform me that charges will amount to the cost of a small car.
Girls night in: masterful triumph from most excellent hostess who plys me with much needed alcohol.
What are friends for.
