The love for my son is such, that even during holidays, I will forcibly drag myself out of my bed, then drag him out, send him out on the first half of his paper run, (which has the heaviest papers), and make his breakfast and then take over for him.
Says Me "is it cold out".
Say He "nope, it's not too bad".
Say Me, "okay".
I leave as he pulls together 3 changes of clothes (is very very hard training he is doing), and hand him some drink and some dosh.
I get on bike, and as I cycle across the road, the rain starts. Then the wind gets up.
I delivery my first 5 papers, and look back and see his lift waiting outside the house for him.... where is he? I watch for a couple of minutes and then he bimbles out.
I set off again. Son goes past in car and waves.
I deliver more. Rain becomes torrential, and of a make up I have not seen before (it's probably been there, I've just never been stupid enough to go out in it). It is hitting my face, and stinging. My throat is killing me, my chest starts to heave, I cough and cough, (no this time, I don't actually pee myself), but I do manage a wee throw up.
As I finish the last few papers and cycle back, a Recycle bin, tries to drive towards me on the wrong side of the road, blocking the exit from the street I am on, and the entrance to the cycle path. These are council employees. Do they not have minimum standards?
I signal to them, that they are blocking my route and the signal - all three of them, that I should cross to the opposite side of the road - I signal back that I am trying to get directly behind them, and am not infact turning on to the main road, - and yet they signal still, so I begin to turn out,on to the wrong side of the road, and around their back. You'd think they would wait wouldn't you... but no - as I get to the side of the lorry, I hear the reversing beeps starting. How fripping mad.
Be lucky council men that I was wet, the rain was getting heavier and harder and I wanted to get home to throw up. Arses.
I got in. had a wee throw up,,,, and now, I'm going back to bed with US Weekly (Thank you Mr Postman), and a cup of tea.