So it’s a rubbish day. My common law husband has gone AWOL, the baby will only eat "bapples" (tangerines) and it is bloody freezing considering it’s July: so thank heaven for the joy of junk!   

A quick scout around my usual haunts threw up two lovely rosey oils (dated 1936, according to the framers stamp, slightly too heavily glazed and in fairly hideous  frames, though probably  lovely once I have liberated them from their hessian surrounds) a black and white photograph of a rather snazzy Edwardian women on skates,  another glass preserve dish (stop already!!) and "Mrs Bakers Book For Housewives".

Gosh, buying stuff and nonsense is fun, and if Mark can take himself off on a jolly I deserve to enjoy myself with his hard earned pennies, don’t I? Don’t I???

Be afraid Mark. Be very afraid. I’m gonna spoil myself silly today.

To hell with the mortgage.