It's Friday, which is good, so Lisa and I have journeyed up north to Chelmsford in the hope of acquiring some high quality Easter eggs from the heart of gourmet country: Essex. Tuesday's Crimewatch featured a consignment of stolen Cadbury's Mini Eggs, so no doubt there's a few of those floating around the place. I'll check out the local pound shop tomorrow.
Anyhoo, I wanted to avoid the worst of the traffic by leaving Brighton at midday, so with my Machiavellian score of 56, I told Lisa that we absolutely, positively, must leave the flat at 11am on the dot. Thus ensuring that she was ready at 12:25pm. If only I'd said half ten.
As it transpired though, we needn't have worried, as the world and his wife were busy heading in the opposite direction. The queue of traffic trying to get into Brighton started eight miles from the city centre, making me slightly regretful that I hadn't rented out my flat to a Londoner for the weekend. Where's Marie when I need her? But having gone against the flow for 90 minutes, and wondered what we must be missing in Brighton, we eventually arrived in Chelmsford, where we set to work eating my Mum's hot cross buns and Taste the Difference carrots (not at the same time, although the carrots claimed to be sweet and juicy, which is more than can be said for the buns).
I'm hoping for a quiet, relaxing weekend, but unfortunately my parents (with the wisdom of old people) have just bought four (count them) new phones, meaning their home is now wired for sound with a total of seven handsets. All of which ring when somebody calls. I wouldn't mind, but they don't even have the same ringtones. It's like a dawn chorus for the tone deaf. My sister's due to arrive from Dallas at 9am tomorrow morning. Let's hope she doesn't phone ahead.