On the news last night: Kweku Adoboli, bank trader for UBS, racked up a loss of £1.4bn, but at one point was in a risk position of £12bn. My first thought after 'How many zeros on twelve billion?' was not 'How did he get away with it?' but 'How did he cope with the worry?' I only need to wonder whether I left the loo window open downstairs to find I can't get back to sleep. Lie there for a bit. Sit up and strain ears for noises. Imagine a whole gang of emaciated Fagin-like children being fed through the window. Muse on the fact that the only copy of 'the novel' is on the computer. Realise I left it plugged in and it's sounding a bit stormy out there, so will that mean a power surge? Could that cause a fire? Are the children's windows locked and did I leave a key in them? Dog would be trapped though...
And on and on it goes until I get up, find window shut after all, computer unplugged, dog doesn't stir, husband doesn't stir. Both give little squeaks of contentment in their sleep. Then I realise it's five-thirty and I have to get up in an hour, so I'll just be dropping off when the alarm goes off, so will that be worse than not going back to sleep at all? Oh God, it's Thursday. Was that the day the raffle money tickets for the school fete needed to be in? No, that's next week. Flump back into pillow.
Did I empty the washing machine before I went to bed? Son needed rugby shorts for today. Already couldn't go swimming last week because he didn't have his kit. Bet teacher thinks I'm one of those mothers who doesn't care, not interested. Must look serious and on the ball and prepare intelligent questions before parents' evening. Hope bright red hair fades before then, otherwise they'll all be whispering, 'You've only got to look at the mother.' Maybe I should stop dying my hair completely. It seems to be falling out more than usual. Maybe that's why the drains keep getting blocked outside. Perhaps they're clogged up with a wig of red hair. Must ring the bloke from the drain company. Wonder whether they'll be able to fit us in before Christmas. Christmas? What's the date today? Less than five weeks? Must wash the curtains in the spare room before then. Damn, the washing. Rugby shorts!
Glad I only owe 35p in library fines.
Today's five worries
- Plight of the honey bee. Ecological Armageddon was the wrong thing to say just before bedtime on Dara O Briain's fab Science Club programme last night.
- Migrating of eyebrows to chin. It's just not fair or feminine.
- How to persuade the woman at the council that I need a bigger recycling bin, despite only having two, not 25 children. Will the rats come if I don't?
- Cab to RNA (Romantic Novelists' Association) party. Will it turn up? Will I have to chase it down our dark lane with the torch? Will I fall in horse manure if I do?
- The biggy. Will fab agent be there? If she is, will I say something so stupid, she will look at me as though I just sneezed in her wine?
Do let me know your worry for today...would love to hear from you!