Day Of The Living Dead

Writing with my eyes wide shut

Image via Wikipedia

 

It’s dead o’clock on Saturday morning.  Been up since pre-dead a.m.  Getting the bus(es) into Manchester.  It’s early and dark and freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezing and I’m tired.  Winter has made its belated arrival.  Hooray for central heating, but I’m still sitting in fleecy pyjamas, thick dressing gown and a thin blanket around my shoulders like a Russian granny.

Spud has the opportunity to take part in a study for contact lenses for teenagers.  He might be in the control group with glasses.  He might not be suitable.  He might earn £135 + free glasses/lenses for six months of doing nothing but the occasional eye test in Manchester.  He has to have an adult present at those tests.  He wants the money, so I have to go with him.  I get nothing out of it except the warm glow of motherly self-sacrifice, and frost bite.

I could be in bed right now with a warm husband and a sleeping alarm clock.  Damn this maternal gene.

Read more Six Word Saturdays here.  If you’re awake.

POSTSCRIPT

As there were so many comments wishing him good luck, I thought you’d like to know that Spud was accepted onto the trial.  He won’t know which group he’ll be in until next week, but he has no preference. 

Good news for me: he turned sixteen today (Sunday), so I don’t have to go with him again.  Yay!

Joke 296

Today’s cartoon is lifted from Gobetween‘s blog.

Local police are hunting the Knitting Needle Nutter who has stabbed six people in the last 48 hours.  They believe the attacker could be following some kind of pattern.