Change of plans, then!

Mr G was asked to work an hour overtime this morning to cover a sick staff member, and when he got home he told me that he'd been allowed to book Christmas Eve off as a holiday! He was working with the deputy manager last night, and was told that he had to book seven days holiday before the end of February. Now, some of these are no problem. We have our away jaunt to Wrexham and London at the end of February. We have our wedding anniversary and Mr G's birthday within 3 days of each other. There are a couple of pre-season friendlies that have been announced for January but they're both in Cumbria and that's one heck of a trek. I think we'll sit those two out and just keep our fingers crossed that something is arranged as a home friendly.

He was looking at potential dates on the computer with the deputy manager and he pointed out that Mr G was working both Christmas and New Year's Eve, and asked him if he'd like to use a holiday for Christmas Eve. He said that he liked those with a young family to be off on Christmas Eve so that it didn't ruin Christmas Day for them. Mr G took his hand off. I was quite surprised to find out that Christmas Eve is a really slow night for them. So, that is booked, and he will snuggling up with me on Christmas Eve, and getting up with me on Christmas morning, which is awesome.

Crusaders unveiled their 2020 kit last night on social media, and it's probably the first year that I am torn between which shirt I want.

The pink number is a charity shirt that will raise money for Nightingale House. I'm not usually a pink person but I think it's awesome and it seems I'm not alone in thinking this. We get a free shirt with our season ticket each year, so we will take the home shirt and buy the away shirt, so the charity benefits. Nice to have something different for a change, too. I probably shouldn't say this, but I really don't like the red and green shirts. I don't like the colours together at all, I would sooner see them play in all red, and that's why I tend to lean towards the (usual) away kit colours of black and yellow.

I got a little Christmas shopping done yesterday afternoon and quite a few of the things have already been delivered today. I didn't realise that it was Black Friday until about seven o'clock last night. For the simple reason that I hadn't even realised that it was Friday until seven o'clock last night. Not only does Mr G's shift pattern confuse the heck out of him, it also does me.

We had an exchange the other night.

Him: What day is it?
Me: Tuesday.
Him: No it isn't. It's Wednesday, isn't it?
Me: It's not. It's Tuesday.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: *hovers mouse over date stamp on PC* Yes.
Him: *shakes his head* You're winding me up
Me: What day was it when you went to bed?
Him: Tuesday
Me: So, what day is it now?
Him: I don't know?
Me: We went to Slimming World yesterday, Monday, when you finished work. We went shopping first thing this morning, Tuesday, and then you went to bed. So today is...
Him: Wednesday?
Me: *facepalm*

:-)

Four days of every week, I am alone in the day. Now, if Mr G was out working then - this would be no problem. The house would be immaculate. I'd be like a cross between Anthea Turner and Nigella. However, he's not out working. He's in bed, asleep. And so - I don't go upstairs. I can go upstairs, I'm not banned from there or anything, but it's just common courtesy on my part. My day time is his night time, after all, and I'd be pissed off if someone was hoovering the stairs, or cleaning the bath at 2.30 am while I was trying to sleep.

So I'm alone, in silence, from eight in the morning until he wakes up. It could be as early as two in the afternoon, could be as late as seven at night. There's only so much that I can do, because the acoustics in the house are shocking. I know that when you're in bed, you can hear the noise of the tumble dryer and washing machine from the kitchen. You can hear the TV, not that I watch TV. If I played music, you could hear it up there. I can't vacuum. I can't keep any clean washing or drying. I can't whisk anything. I can't blend anything. There's only so much that I can do, so I'm just in limbo, really. Bored. And those four days blend into one long day. Yeah, I know, so how come I didn't hit my 50,000 word target then, eh?

Final word count for 2019 is... 30,840. I'm happy with that. I'll just have to settle for being a participant in 2019 and not a winner. Now I have eleven months to think up a completely new tale with new characters. Who am I trying to kid, now I have to start editing, splicing, checking continuity between the seven books (because I am a perfectionist), making sure every date is correct, every birthdate, every wedding date, checking the spelling and grammar, getting rid of too often used words, checking capitalisation, checking... aaaargh! Seven books. Why would I even do that to myself?