I am reaching the stage where I am getting so used to those steamrollers of stress that I hardly bat an eye when something else goes wrong. Maybe the tears will come later. At the moment I just feel numb.
Bad news from the prison.
Good job I’m out to a Local Preachers’ meeting this evening or I have a feeling that the bottle of out-of-date Baileys in the fridge might have ended up ready for the recycling bin tomorrow, regardless of how “off” the cream was. As it is it’s probably just as well I’m numb – tears at my first Local Preachers’ meeting might be a little too awkward an introduction.