11 (an act of faith, not intended to offend)

It's going to be a curious old day.

I've decided to have porridge for breakfast but I'm too lazy to mess up a pan making it so have called the microwave into duty. It's a tenuous thing, making porridge in a microwave. An act of faith. I don't measure so getting the ratio of oats to milk is always exciting. Get it right and you have a warm, full tummy and a 'Ready Brek' glow. Get it wrong and you'll be rendered unable to move, struck down by a lead weight. Either that or you've just created some very handy wallpaper paste. My porridge worked this morning, but it has taken several stunted minutes in the microwave - cleaning a microwave is so much worse than washing a pan - and I have burnt fingers. It doesn't ever tell you how to get the damn bowl out does it? Yes, I have oven gloves but this is a bowl of porridge, I refuse to arm myself against it.

But the porridge is good.

This afternoon I have a treat ahead of me. Harvest festival at school. I'm ashamed to say that I spent a few minutes this morning forewarning the girls that I might not be there, due to 'work committments'. Tink, however, is singing - something about lovely conkers I do believe, and is keen for my attendance.