When Nothing Much is Happening ..

I decided that, with no other plans for this non-working week, it would be a good opportunity to clean the flat.  I've developed a great aversion to house- work over the years (never trained right as a lad, in my adult opinion); so long as everything is in its place, I'm inclined to leave the hoover in its place too.  In fact after seeing my then dwelling for the first time some years ago, one lady commented, "It's dirty ... but tidily dirty!"  But after some while, there were a lot of things not in their places ... especially things for which the proper place is the recycling bin, like five-year old catalogues, and even older railway timetables.  It was time for action!

As a tempter, I resolved to clean one room per day, which more or less worked out, and the job is now done.  I can hear sympathetic readers (the others have probably closed this bulletin already in disgust) saying, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?  Now try and keep it up from now on."  And you're quite right, of course; I can only say I'll do my best.

Alongside this feverish unaccustomed domestic activity, I also started out taking a walk each afternoon, but this was thwarted on day three when the rain told me, "go home - there's no point getting wet just for the sake of it!"

There was also much feverish activity on the admin front, as I sought to make important and long-term decisions about funding my retirement when it is finally phased in ... all this being prompted by setting up a realistic budget for next year.  After an extended evening's work constructing a spreadsheet, I went to bed exhausted, only to wake up a couple of hours later convinced that the whole effort was wasted because of a flaw in the thinking behind it: a flaw so basic as forgetting that, although sharing a pasture, tax years and calendar years are not the same beast.  The next day found me doing exactly the same exercise ... but properly, this time!

During last week I discovered that my printer wasn't working as it should, and as I explored possible reasons, it occurred to me that a lack of bespoke ink might be the difficulty, so I placed an order.  Meanwhile, as I dabbled further with the problem, I hit on the true remedy, and fixed it.  Hence the order for ink dropped off the radar, and the other afternoon a delivery driver (not from my company, thank goodness!) tried to deliver the parcel, only to find me in the bath!  No embarrassment was involved, I'm pleased to report; once dressed, I happily collected the card he'd put through the door, and drove across the town to collect the ink, which is now stored ready for use in due course.

The weekend promises to be a busy one, too.  Tomorrow I'm planning to visit my native Norfolk, to watch an FA Vase tie, and on Sunday our church is holding its annual pets service, so anything could happen there!  Sobriety returns in the afternoon, when there is a bereavement service for those who have lost loved ones during the past year, and a little later, at the other side of the town, the bellringers will gather for this year's final attempt to ring a quarter peal (1,260 changes, taking about three-quarters of an hour's intense concentration).