Thursday, 8 September 2016

Staying's worse than leaving...

So yesterday, at around 2.00pm, my holiday started.  To celebrate my nine days of rest, I started with two loads of washing and an hour's ironing, working on the assumption that if I got it out of the way now, I could head down to Devon with a holier than thou conscience.  How naïve of me.  Here are the things which are causing me some angst, as we leave two or three adult kids in the house...

1.   I just used the last dishwasher tablet.  This gives the children the green light to not switch on the dishwasher for the whole week.

2.  There is no bread in the house.

3.  Lady H (she of the bionic mop) is due here today and also on the Thursday we return.  I anticipate her coming into a relatively tidy house today, but next week will be a different matter after a week without me traipsing around after children and the husband with a bin bag and a bottle of anti-bac.  When she opens the front door next week, she may do a double take on the sight which greets her.  I can guarantee that there will be at least five pairs of shoes in the hall, and my worktops will be littered with the detritus of son number two's cooking.

4. My magnificent hanging baskets will not be watered for a week.  When we return, they will be beige and crunchy, as will my one house plant which has never died on me.  The windowsill it sits on is known as Death Row in my house.

5. On our return, I will be greeted by a mountain of washing so high that the summit will be topped by a mountain goat.  The fridge however, will be devoid of anything other than a solitary tumbleweed.

So I will try to forget what's going on at home while the husband and I are having our week away in the shed.

I mean, what's the worse that can happen...
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