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I never get anything done on a Friday
Except, apparently, this Friday, during which I have found Marianne's necklace, found a stamp, checked through Jonathan's clothes for some that weren't pre-demented, phoned the doctor to find out if I'm on a waiting list, phoned the hospital ditto, to find out that I'm not on the waiting list due to a cock-up but they will check the records and put me on retroactively to the clinic date (good for targets I should think, that), rang the art shop that has an account for the cousin of Steven's whose getting married tomorrow and added some money to their kitty, sorted out my clothes, bag, shoes and makeup for tomorrow, phoned the hotel we're staying at tomorrow night to arrange an early check-in, planned next week's shopping and meals and ordered from Ocado, cleaned out my handbag, charged up my iPod and digital cameras, phoned egg to find out what has happened to my additional card for Steven, which they've now promised to send three times, washed Marianne's posh cardi and drawn up a packing list.

Then I went out with Jonathan in tow (just imagine shopping with a small, unruly, untethered llama for the next bit), and bought a wedding card and some confetti, and a mother's day card, picked up Steven's shirt from the dry cleaners (£1.50 -- it takes me nearly half an hour to iron a dress shirt, so I don't think I'll ever iron one again), posted the mother's day card (hence the stamp), bought a new shirt for Jonathan, got posh tights for Marianne and ordinary tights for me, paid several cheques into mine and Marianne's bank accounts, took two bags of old clothes to the charity shop (there are still a lot more to clear out), booked an optician's appointment for next week for me, Marianne and Jonathan, picked up a passport application for Marianne, whose passport has expired, got Jonathan's hair cut, got caught in extremely inclement weather and dashed into McDonald's for a well-deserved Happy Meal.

In a few minutes coth is arriving, after which we're picking Marianne up from school and going back to her house so that the kids can trash it while we drink coffee. At least, I think that's the plan.

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Jonathan's clothes for some that weren't pre-demented

He plans to become a dementor then eh?

a small, unruly, untethered llama for the next bit

Oh and does he spit if you don't feed him quickly enough?

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