Mondays are the worst. I suppose that is a fairly universal truth - unless you start work on Tuesdays. You've had a whole weekend to remember who you are supposed to be, and to do things which might form an armature for future sculpture. And then Monday arrives and sucks big donkey arse.
The Boy is a sweet child, but possibly the most boring person I've ever met. His vocabulary is still mainly pointing and grunting. His favourite activity is throwing everything. I try and have conversations with him, but it's a bit one-sided. And before you know it the morning has shunted into the afternoon like a pile-up on a motorway. The Girls are, at least, very entertaining. When they are not fighting, kicking, hitting, pinching or biting each other. Or screaming at each other. I tell them stories about cats, and things my daughter did when she was little. H wanted me to catch a pigeon to take home. My throat is sore from being a lion.
The Agency has now sent my file out to five employers. I suppose the almost possibility of almost getting work where I could possibly wear a skirt and type stuff, just makes things a little less tolerable.
I did tonight what I've been promising myself for the last week - bought frites from one of the best stands in Brussels and ate them in the rain on the two mile walk home. Greasy and excellent.