I've had a lazy Friday morning, I've only just got up for a start. I decided late on Thursday that I was going to take a day's holiday. I never use all of my holidays and end up losing them - 4 last year - and I've got a few things to finish writing, so I thought what the heck. I've left my hair wet, I’m not bothered if it sticks out, I’m not straightening it. It’s not so much curly as kinky – very kinky. So, I've brought breakfast upstairs - milk and toast. Toast minus the marmite, which seems to have vanish off the face of the earth. As I'm the only one that likes it, I can't blame anyone else. I can only find the jam and marmalade *pulls a face*. I plan on having a day were the muse (hopefully) will flow, and bend Chris's ear a bit - if he really is still talking to me that is.

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My friend Steph is off to Kenya on the 19th, and getting very excited about it. She is going to work in a children’s home in Mombasa, where she has volunteered her help to work with 11 orphaned children who are HIV positive. Pretty special is our Steph, full of confidence and boundless energy, I’m sure she’ll make a difference. She has arranged it all through a Charity, raised the funds herself and took two weeks holiday off work. Someone said to her what difference could she make in just two weeks – Well, all I can say is that they obviously don’t know her very well. She’ll most definitely make her mark, not just while she is there, but after she comes back as well.

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I think I’m suffering from PMT – no, not Premenstrual Tension – but Petty Minded Staff. I really don’t have a clue what’s got into everyone lately, but the moaning and back biting is getting worse. Two members of my team are at it now. The e2e Administrator is trying to boss the Receptionist around and they are both moaning like hell to every Tom, Dick and Harry who will listen, except of course to each other or to me. I had to find out off my manager. I hate conflicted – so I’m not looking forward to knocking this one on the head. I think I should also add that I hate being a manager too – that should just about cover everything. What a week, God help me this Friday. Yes - that right - I am superstitious. I’ll get myself knocked over walking into the road to avoid walking under a ladder. I always say Good Morning, Mr Magpie, when I spot said bird and hold my collar if I see an ambulance. I haven’t got a bloody clue where the last one comes from, but I do it religiously anyway.

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I asked Himself to come shopping with me last night. I really didn’t feel like it on Wednesday, so Tracy went with Rich. It probably wasn’t one of my best ideas, for a start we spent nearly £30 more than usual. I hate shopping and aim to get round as quickly as possible. Himself seems to think it’s an evening out. Not a brief perusal of the goods on offer for him. Oh no, every items gets his full attention. He can spot a new product at 3 metres and then of course wants to try it. He finds the fresh fish counter fascinating – wonder what that will taste like, he said. Never mind what it tastes like, how the bloody hell are you supposed to cook it? The fish in question doesn’t even look like a fish; it’s a long white thing with funny looking flesh that goes by the name of a Huss fillet. And he had to ask didn't he, apparently, it is in fact the dog fish. I’m not prepared to even touch it, let alone cook and eat it.

Then of course you have to get him past the counters that have items that you can taste displayed on the top. The only one that is safe is the cheese counter. Himself doesn’t like cheese. Isn’t that just typical, the one thing that I like we can walk straight by, not so much as a sniff. And just how long does it take to choose a jar of Coffee - nearly five minutes, that's how long.

Don't Supermarket stock a wide range of beers these day? We had to spend nearly 10 minutes in that isle – which felt like an hour to me, I can tell you. I did suggest that I carry on and he could catch me up. No, it didn’t matter, he’d come with me, he won't buy anything. If I tried that one on, I’d have got a LOOK at the very least, if not a swat if no one was about. Yes, that right, he's not afraid to wallop me in the supermarket if no one's around.

When we eventually get to the check out, hours later. No, that's the truth, nearly two bloody hours later - the fun really starts. I’m not one of those shoppers that carefully unloads their trolley onto the conveyor belt in a set order. Oh no, chuck it on and get out quickly as possible is the best policy as far as I’m concerned. Himself didn’t want to do it that way – that’s why the biscuits are always broken, he said. Look I don’t eat biscuits, so it’s not a problem as far as I’m concerned. Then the stupid woman on the check out asked if we want help with the packing. Yes, please, he said. Aarrrrrggggghhhhhh.

I’m not asking him again – I’ve learnt my lesson – I’ll manage by myself in future.