On our way back from walking the dogs this morning, we spied a man washing his car. In the rain!
‘Good heavens,’ I said. ‘Surely he must have something better to do with his Saturday that that’.
Because, of course, I had something better to do – something much better. I was going to write more of my literary masterpiece, delight my imaginary readers with the imaginary antics of my imaginary characters, Oh, yes. Not for me the wasted day. Life’s too short and all that.
So, I sat in front of the screen, pulled up the chapter I was tweaking, and read it over. Hmm . . .Not quite the masterpiece I remembered from the night before. Maybe if I ditched this bit, cut and pasted that, and added a bit . . .
To the recycle bin with you, and you, and you.
A tumbleweed of dog hair caught my eye. Well, not so much ‘a’ tumbleweed, more an amalgamation, nay, a plethora of tumbleweeds. They edged the room like a furry, messy skirting board. Tut tut, I thought. Things will have come to a pretty pass if I have to get that damned hoover out.
Coffee, that was the answer.
On my way to the kitchen, I noticed it wasn’t just my room adorned with the furry edging. It was every room. Still, it couldn’t do any harm, could it? Perhaps it would help to insulate the house and make a nice home for overwintering creatures. Environmentally sound. A double whammy.
I had writing to do, don’t you know. Important stuff. Not for me the minutiae of everyday life.
An hour later, my word count diminishing at an alarming rate, I gave up.
Things had come to a pretty pass.
I didn’t just hoover, I dusted too, went the whole hog.
That is until I found a fabby house spider. Had to take a pic, of course (see below – unless you’re an arachnophobe. In which case, don’t), tweet the photo, then fill in the house spider survey wotsit. And then I checked my emails.
Now the hoover’s lying abandoned in the hallway. The duster and polish are at my side, reprimanding me for my miniscule attention span. ‘So quickly,’ I hear them say, ‘you lose interest. One minute we’re embraced, the next abandoned, discarded, because a new something has caught your eye, you fickle flirt, you.’
At least I didn’t wash the car. Things are never that bad.