Yesterday morning, the phone went at 5.30am. I leapt up, fearing some family calamity, but there was no-one there. 1471 gave an 08-something number, which when dialled came up a BT SMS something or other. I was more than a trifle pissed off and couldn't get back to sleep.
Last night was another bad night with Molly up, and dreams about a Canon EOS 1D, for God's sake; have you seen the price of the bugger? That's a professional camera... unless we win the Lottery. It was one of those unfathomable, confused dreams that leaves you drained and disoriented.
So I'm cream crackered today. Term's more or less over, though, so I've been quietly getting on with researching about self access to learning, more details over on the studious blog over the next few days, if anybody's arsed.
Molly went for her jabs this morning, and Herself and I kept in touch with developments over the phone. She had them in both legs, apparently, and screamed blue murder with real tears. She'll be mildly ill as a result, and Calpol was prescribed - she loves the taste.