I’m feeling pitifully sorry for myself today. I need a good slap because it’s not life and death but nonetheless I’m feeling wretched.
It started on Friday evening. Daughter was at a sleepover with four friends; Son was watching TV and Husband had braved the tropical rain storm to get home for his last phone meeting of the week.
Through the wall I could hear Husband on the conference call – him talking loudly as though to someone slightly stupid and the tinny voices of his colleagues from the speaker phone. I was finishing off Two Caravans when the email bleeped red on my Blackberry.
Every time the thought had entered my head that the writing course might be jeopardised by the political unrest here I gave it a firm whack away. It would be fine, I said, it’s in Koh Chang not in Bangkok.
Yesterday the news came: The Literary Consultancy has taken the decision to cancel the course. I’d tried so hard not to think this might happen but at the same time I understand. If I were in the UK thinking of coming to a country under a State of Emergency... well, I don't think I would.
Lovely Husband is telling me to go anyway… it's all in the diary, got everything in place at home - have a break, he says, but I don’t need a break – I need a writing course.
See, I just need a good slap for being a spoilt and selfish.