My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

Which sounds so much more fun than it was. The rubber boots was the ongoing Quest for Wellies. Indy might think he has a hard time of it, but that's nothing compared to wandering around my nasty mall (stuffed full of the sort of chavs you usually see being arrested on The Bill) in desperate search of wellies. For starters, nobody even knew what they were. Even worse, I once had a pair, in the 80s, when it flooded (my brother's school, if I recall, would have required waders if not scuba gear) but I'd not worn them in twenty years, so I ditched them, like you're supposed to. And then the rains came. I'm quite paranoid that if I do achieve wellies I'll bring on another withering twenty year drought. Which is just another layer of stress to my fruitless searchings. I heard rumours of one store having 'rubber boots' then another and rushed backwards and forwards, to no avail.

I just want to be dry shod when working in an uncharacteristically damp back garden - is that too much to ask? Apparently so.
( more: grumpy old Indy )