Blondie in the house

I think I may actually have blonde roots. My cunning strategy of dropping my bag off at work before heading out for an 8 am meeting is not only just plain stupid, it's also impractical. Turns out the meetings not at the West End as I'd imagined it, but in the City. Also turns out, that my diet today has obviously addled my brain into believing I could actually make an 8 am meeting after having dropped my kit off in the office.

Vanilla yogurt (really yummy!) minus any cereal, because the mental note I made to myself to buy some more as I finished off last of it got filed in that part of the brain that is pretending to be Khumbhakarna. A parade of seedless grapes ably supported by a large chunk of Port Salut keeps me going well into lunch time. Three bananas in succession tides me over till I make my escape to shop for fizzy fish for the Hungarian. So far, my plan for an early exit to go home, pamper, prep and pack for 31C has been a dismal failure.

I get home to the thrill of a new baccha in the family, and it manages to divert me for all of 30 minutes as we exult over the phone. Shania came home today and is apparently the most adorable 4 month old baby. I'm so excited with the news, I forget to eat. For all of those 30 minutes. I wonder if I'm so pleased because I now resemble a pregnant bovine, and it's infectious? My brows furrow at the thought of the packing I'll have to get done tonight, my spine shudders at the thought of the 8 am call, and my mouth systematically slurps up 14 dim sums. This is not a balanced diet. But I can fix that. Dark chocolate. 5 nos. in quick succession, just to round it off (no pun intended!!). I have decided. If anyone looks inquiringly below breast level, I shall benevolently pat my bump, '9 weeks now...'

I now contemplate making a list of items I should definitely not forget to take, including passport, laptop, suncream, all manner of chargers, laptop, gifts...... put away laundry, a stray synapse whispers at me, freeze the prawns unless you want to carry it for the Hungarian hisses another. My stomach tells me to ignore them, and opens up a far more lively debate; duck noodles or pancetta pasta? I've left the other half of my chunk of cheese in the fridge at work. Em sends me dial in numbers for 8 am, telling me not to worry. Undoubtedly impressed with the stunning job I've done of hiding my fundamental blonde state. I personally like to think that it was being a supremely efficient, multi tasking goddess at work, juggling 3 rfp's, a business case, covering for colleagues on holiday, figuring out service delivery in Zimbabwe, remembering to send uberboss mail on training, yelling at a parent each for wasting my time, clinically reviewing and organising funds before calming paternal nerves.....that has left me bereft of my natural brunette abilities.

Or, I could just be hungry.....

P.S. - Should I kill Cala now, or let her die a natural death while I'm away????