Zombie

I am a zombie this morning. A cross zombie. Sort of like that shouty Cranberries song from the mid 90s. There's nothing worse than getting up after a night of broken sleep (I think we had four wakings last night, ugh) and knowing you have to go to work. No amount of making the packed lunch the night before (for me, thankfully the boy is fed at nursery) and putting the clothes out makes the transition between bed and landing any easier. I am typing this whilst the child eats Cheerios at a maddeningly slow pace (one in, pause, chew, pause, chew, swallow, pick up another, study, repeat) making me more cross. He should be at nursery by now, and I should have started my mammoth commute over the M62 from Manchester to Leeds. I'm going to have to do a sneak-in when I get there and hope all the hot desks aren't taken (a sure fire way to rouse 'oooh you're late' from a helpful colleague).

More later ...