Monday, Monday

The Met Office weren’t joking when they said there would be heavy rain last night, with the possibility of flash floods. At one point, just before 2.00am, the rain was drumming against the conservatory’s glass roof so loud that I could hear it upstairs, despite the fact that the internal doors were shut.

This morning there are pools of water everywhere outside and the wind is howling, but the rain seems to have given up for now. We are in a period of high humidity and low average temperatures. It’s the humidity that’s the bad bit; it’s always the humidity. I am going rusty, much less anything iron based around here.

My descent into domesticity continues apace. We bought cushions for the kitchen chairs on Saturday. At some point I must buy some paint and tart the chairs up, but blimey. We bought cushions.

Later this week I shall be ordering a couple of armchairs for the very same conservatory, to be delivered next week while we are at home. I was close to being beguiled by office furniture, too – a new desk and chair, but I stood on that impulse, though I must buy some black gaffa tape to make running repairs to my current office chair, which has a mysterious and slowly growing split in the seat cushion, betraying its tawdry cheapness. But it’s less that four years old, so I’m damned if I’m shelling out shekels on a replacement just yet.

Somewhere, deep in the back of my head, earlier versions of me are raging against all this: I am betraying signs of growing up.

Monday, Monday

The Met Office weren’t joking when they said there would be heavy rain last night, with the possibility of flash floods. At one point, just before 2.00am, the rain was drumming against the conservatory’s glass roof so loud that I could hear it upstairs, despite the fact that the internal doors were shut.

This morning there are pools of water everywhere outside and the wind is howling, but the rain seems to have given up for now. We are in a period of high humidity and low average temperatures. It’s the humidity that’s the bad bit; it’s always the humidity. I am going rusty, much less anything iron based around here.

My descent into domesticity continues apace. We bought cushions for the kitchen chairs on Saturday. At some point I must buy some paint and tart the chairs up, but blimey. We bought cushions.

Later this week I shall be ordering a couple of armchairs for the very same conservatory, to be delivered next week while we are at home. I was close to being beguiled by office furniture, too – a new desk and chair, but I stood on that impulse, though I must buy some black gaffa tape to make running repairs to my current office chair, which has a mysterious and slowly growing split in the seat cushion, betraying its tawdry cheapness. But it’s less that four years old, so I’m damned if I’m shelling out shekels on a replacement just yet.

Somewhere, deep in the back of my head, earlier versions of me are raging against all this: I am betraying signs of growing up.