In common with half of Belfast my wife and family have headed for Donegal, leaving me all alone. It is now day three. The mince steak is finished. The milk is running out, along with the Sugar Puffs. I'm down to my last seven jam tarts, some party rings and bag of Raspberry Ruffles. The standard of television has plummeted so I'm back to The West Wing, Season One.
I am remembering to water the newly planted bed plants, which reminds me, apparently clothes horses are completely invisible to the male. There might be something in it.
My poor wife telephoned me on day two. "Have you come across a big bag anywhere?". I hadn't. Turns out that, while packing everyone else's bag into the car, she forgot to pack her own. I wonder is it a ploy to get a whole new wardrobe. I should freeze the credit cards before it's too late.
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