There will be no silk pillow

Gods one must be the only person in history that dreads going home on a Friday night. The traffic is abominable because the bridge is still out... personal money is Easter at the earliest... and we are crawling along at a steady stop, start, stop pace. To be honest one is just grateful for having the sense to grab an unwholesome snack on the way out the door from work, ‘cos at this rate it is going to be a two hour trip home.

All through the bus phones are ringing and the conversations make you realise how remarkably similar we are... yes I’m on the bus... at this rate... grab some takeaways... see you eventually. We peer out the windows mournfully at the rain and the increasingly darkening sky. One of the hardest things to get used to here is the complete lack of dusk. Here it is daylight one minute; the sun goes down and bang... someone has turned out the lights.

And here we are one third of the way into our trip, and it is going to be jammed as several train loads of people cram on. Right at this moment we should be just arriving home. Oh great... right about now one is starting to identify rather strongly with kaya... really need to pee... and not a powder room in sight let alone an owner.

Well it is now 8 pm and one has just finished a shower and cooking a quick dinner for one... and this is why He is not getting the teriyaki chicken that He wanted for lunch. There is not enough time to marinade the meat, let alone cook it before turning into bed to get up bright and early for work.... again. So to all you flowers of submission out there who think that you will serve perfectly... this is what 24/7 looks like. Rushed and imperfect... with days that don’t have enough hours in them L