Skip to main content

Just another manic Monday...

Words from a Bird.  Day 60

The husband finally surfaced after another night in quarantine, just as the morning tilted over into double figures.  His mission today?  To transfer all of last year's paperwork to the shed, leaving room in the garage for this year's newly finished paperwork, thus making room in his office for the empty folders ready for the coming year.

This all sounded very straightforward.  However, to get to the folders in his office an element of brutal clearing out was needed.  There are filing trays in his office which he hasn't looked in since around 2006.  This was around the time we moved in - I had bought them to help him get organised.  If only I'd known, ten years down the line that the most interesting thing in them would be one cycling glove and a pair of secateurs (which I had replaced in 2012 thinking them lost forever) I probably wouldn't have bothered.  He admitted that he had never even looked at them, thinking that they were the personal responsibility of either his bookkeeper, the wonderful Mrs B-T, or me (as I had bought them in the first place).

He also discovered enough pens to keep him going through to 2036.  Looking even further ahead, we may still have enough to open our own 'Rollerball and Biro' stall on the local market once retirement beckons.

So his office now looks quite professional (Mrs B-T will be thrilled and will probably think she has walked into the wrong house, as have I three times today).  I can even see the carpet again...

I also did my office, which involved polishing the desk and emptying the bin.  Thank goodness for my inherited OCD.  'Little and often' as I say to the husband on many occasions...

However, two tidy offices in one day is quite an achievement, so I have treated him to a new office chair which was delivered last night in time for the start of another busy working week.

I also have a posh new chair....well, I did empty the bin.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Say goodbye...

Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'
So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.
Someone once told me that if I ever felt like pickin…

Cold wind blows...

I don't know how cold it is with you at the moment, but I spent yesterday morning snapping the two furballs off various trees and posts as we attempted a walk before I went to work.  I had made the schoolgirl error of asking myself, 'Just how cold can it be?' before putting one extra sweater on beneath my walking coat.  I also had my Olga from the Volga fur hat, a scarf and gloves (to be fair, I've been wearing all of these since the middle of October).  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into consideration was the above the knee dress I was wearing to work yesterday.  I imagined that the extra warmth up top would somehow work its way to my knees.  
I was wrong.
Getting back indoors after forty five minutes of combat with The Beast from the East, I looked down at my legs.  Even with the black 100 denier tights I was wearing, I could see that my legs had taken on a slightly different hue to normal.  They were looking like two red pillar boxes, and it took ten minutes …

A man could go quite mad...

I have started to realise that there are many things about me which drive the husband mad.  When you first get together, those small faults are cute and a little bit quirky.  However, fast forward a couple of decades and they become a fairly acceptable excuse for manslaughter.  
I started thinking about this after the contretemps with the cutlery drawer a couple of weeks ago.  If you remember, the husband informed that that I was messing with his feng shui by putting the boiled egg spoons in with the dessert forks.  He only seemed to notice that I did this after I bought a new cutlery tray for the drawer, so I'm blaming Groupon for grassing me up.
The other thing is my snoring.  When we first met, this was described as 'endearing', and he told me that as he lay next to me at night, he used to smile to himself and listen to me.  This swiftly moved on to comparisons with a nasally challenged warthog, and more recently to a Boeing 747 with a noisy exhaust.  I'm considerate …