Awoken at 2.45 this morning by animated girly student chatter in the street, as always with volume control disabled; clearly something a bit more exciting going on than the usual falling drunk out of a house and into a taxi. Got up and looked out of dormer window, saw two young women cycling - cycling! in the middle of the night! - somewhat unsteadily, one with a cycle lamp tucked under her arm. Directed looks of small-hours-and-awake-again-rage at their backs, and put radio on for a while. Dog slept on, oblivious. Nothing on the news today about excitable drunk girls cycling off the quayside into the Tyne. But the spiteful side of me that is released by disturbed sleep hopes that they were saddle-sore by the time they got to wherever they were whooping and wobbling to. By the time I slept again the blackbirds were singing; such a beautiful sound, but they set their alarms a bit too early.
Underslept and crabby, I shopped, collected orders for cakes (lots, to be frozen in advance of my holiday so that the current craze for lemon boring drizzle cake isn't affected by my selfish need for a break), and made the first of seven. The will to live is going to disappear by the end of this lemon drizzathon. Also made a simnel cake for Annie, deciding to put 12 marzipan balls on the top, not just 11; let's have Judas out there too! He can get eaten just like the regular non-treacherous Apostles. Made a batch of pecan and maple scones and some ginger biscuits for the expected visitor who failed to arrive, although she rang later to apologise, not having found the email confirming her own arrangement until it was too late. At least I have something other than lemon drizzle cake to offer people tomorrow. This house could have a plaque commemorating the contribution I have made to the nation's tooth decay.
Annie arrived for our planned Chinese takeaway - strangely, a real treat for her, living as she does in a one-horse town with little to offer vegetarians looking for an easy dinner option. Two tired people, we slumped in the armchairs and scooped it all up in the most unmannerly way.The dog scrounged the slug-type mushrooms that you either love or loathe. We loathe them extravagantly.
The Lovely Son forwarded his train booking details: home for 2 days after Easter, and staying long enough to see his mother off on the plane to Heathrow. Hurrah! But I wish he was coming with me.