Himself has taken three tearful boys off to a football match. #1 is tearful because he doesn't want to play and he's tired. #2 is tearful because he wants to stay with me and #3 is in hysterics because he is buggered if he is going o be made leave the house and his computer game. #3 is five! Either way, they're all gone now and I'm sitting here, meant to be trying to work out how to make a sodding smithwicks can of beer. I can make the can, do the logo and all that but do you think I can put a name on the sodding colour of the can? Answer here being: No.
So instead of looking up pantone references - a waste of time in itself as I'm a cake maker now a sodding . . . I dunno, mixer of bespoke colours. I am chatting to you. So nothing that should be getting done is getting done. Procrastination is such a pain in the arse really.
Have you ever noticed that the more time you have to do something the longer it takes to get done? I have 2.5 hours to put away ironing, empty washing machine, reload washing machine, make dinner (first have to go buy dinner) and work out that sodding colour. Of course 2.5 hours is plenty of time . . . . to waste, pissing around on the Internet. If I only had 15 minutes I'd get at least half of the above done. Sigh.
Okay, move Niamh. C'mon, off your arse. You can do it . . . big mournful siiiiiigh.
Okay. I'm doing it. I'm going to shut the computer and do something. Anything. But I am pretty sure I won't have everything done by the time himself and three tearful boys arrive home.
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