Arriveth the weekend

A weekend of chores looms, Gentle Reader, for your correspondent.

Over the past couple of months I haven't been around much at the weekend for one reason or another, and it has all built up a bit. So, over the weekend, I have to launder enough clothing to kit out a small Balkan country, and also do enough tidying so that I can take delivery of a nice new (big) telly next weekend from wallabok without him ending up impaled on some hidden tank trap in Bryan's Garret de Clapham.

Happily, this time we're only talking a couple of hours work rather than the entire re-landscaping of the place that happened last time I allowed things to build up. It's odd. I never consciously intend for the place to degenerate into a pit, but it does. If I could get into the habit of coaxing the laundry away and scaring the old news papers out of the door on a regular basis, all would be well. But I seem incapable of doing so.

It's no wonder I have so few guests: only Spider-Man could get in, and that would be via the ceiling. Even the Ant-Man would have problems as he'd most likely get lost in the undergrowth.

Still, as I say, this time is not quite the job it was last time, so I am confident that not too much of my weekend will be lost.

Can we say "famous last words" kiddies?

I think we can.

Arriveth the weekend

A weekend of chores looms, Gentle Reader, for your correspondent.

Over the past couple of months I haven't been around much at the weekend for one reason or another, and it has all built up a bit. So, over the weekend, I have to launder enough clothing to kit out a small Balkan country, and also do enough tidying so that I can take delivery of a nice new (big) telly next weekend from wallabok without him ending up impaled on some hidden tank trap in Bryan's Garret de Clapham.

Happily, this time we're only talking a couple of hours work rather than the entire re-landscaping of the place that happened last time I allowed things to build up. It's odd. I never consciously intend for the place to degenerate into a pit, but it does. If I could get into the habit of coaxing the laundry away and scaring the old news papers out of the door on a regular basis, all would be well. But I seem incapable of doing so.

It's no wonder I have so few guests: only Spider-Man could get in, and that would be via the ceiling. Even the Ant-Man would have problems as he'd most likely get lost in the undergrowth.

Still, as I say, this time is not quite the job it was last time, so I am confident that not too much of my weekend will be lost.

Can we say "famous last words" kiddies?

I think we can.