Knickers

Don't talk to me about spur cutters. Honestly, I managed to totally fail to engage my brain cell when it came to same on the Godot Brother and will have to take a re-sit. I could blame the lack of revision notes - and believe me, I do that too - but truth to tell usually I'd have spotted the obvious myself and I failed to. I dunno, I had a feeling it was all a bit pear-shaped but there we are. I'm really not at all on the woodworking ball at the moment and should probably be put out to pasture. Or humanely put out of my misery with a nail gun to the temple.

To add to my woes, er, joys I mean; my esteemed and much-loved mother - sometimes known as The Patient - found this blog the other day. So now I type with that additional viewer over the shoulder. That's good, isn't it...? However I don't expect her to be a regular visitor, and she hasn't grasped how to read beyond the last four entries, so fingers crossed we may yet get away with it...

Now I did warn you about the decline in my mood as The Wedding approached, didn't I? Yes, I did. See? I wasn't kidding.