More from the domestic front

I haven't really interracted enough with the Outside World for it to annoy me today (although I still hope that an endorsement from Brown is the kiss of death to Blair's presidential ambitions: I hate them both equally, albeit in different ways). About the only thing which has impinged is the darkness: why the hell the clocks have to move at all, and plunge me into this annual trough of doom and despair beats me. I just looked at the time, expecting it to be nearly bedtime, to find that it is not even half past nine. I know that people mutter about paper boys dying in Scotland, but the reality is that paper boys have been largely superseded - by a jumble of too much homework, over-protective parents, and people just not reading as many newspapers as they used to. So I have the added irritant of knowing that, as is usually the case, my suffering is actually completely unnecessary.

The little things do, as ever, seem to be ganging up on me, though. A lamp in our dining room has gone ping - and it must have been more than just the bulb that pinged because replacing the bulb hasn't fixed it. And my sewing machine - which was only serviced a fortnight ago - has started hiccoughing again, which means that my plans to fill up the next few days with sorting out a quilt for my niece (which might at least have made them drag less heavily, amidst the general doom and gloom) have gone out the window. And both of our bedroom windows were stuck for most of the day - one of them closed, one of them wide open - and although I did eventually manage to close the open one, I still need to open the closed one to try to clean the outside of it.

And then there's the husband. He's currently getting drunk after a masonic meeting: the therefore left the wardrobe door wide open with a paint-spattered step ladder in front of it when he went to work this morning, as he had to hunt around for the relevant tie (again) in the thirty seconds before he left. If he'd actually sorted all of his stuff out on Sunday, into our newly decorated spare room, as he had said he would, the tie would have been in a different wardrobe, at a lower level, and even if he had left the stepladder up it would have been in a room which I would have had little cause to go into. But he's not stuck in the flat all day, every day - so the furniture in the wrong places, the heaps of stuff, and even random stepladders, don't really impinge on his consciousness. Grrrr.

I'm now going to go to bed, because I can't think of anything else to do.



(About the only good bit of the day - although I had a carrot one, and this looks like one of the scary alien-blood pink ones instead.)