Tomorrow belongs to me...

Yesterday was mostly spent cursing the weather.  It's always really hard coming home from warmer climes, but when you have seven loads of washing to get washed and dried, and only have one laundry airer to hang it on, it takes planning and ingenuity to get it all done.

It's my own fault really.  The husband has offered me various washing lines over the years, but as our garden is a funny shape (wide and shallow) I have always turned him and his whirlygig down.  Not that having a washing line would have made any difference yesterday thanks to the bloody rain though.  So I ended up with clothes half drying in open doorways, hung over curtain rails, on the airer, over the kitchen chairs and even hanging from the kitchen drawer handles.

Once the clothes were slightly less sodden, I started ironing them dry, and then removing them upstairs to the wearer's bedroom, where they could now be hung on their curtain rails and wardrobe knobs to finish off.  Add in one large tumble drier load of underwear and socks and by 1.00 yesterday nearly all the clothes were back where they should be.  I know, I know, just call me Superwoman (or anally retentive madwoman/OCD lunatic/freak.. you choose).  

Talking of underwear and socks, the amount that three males can use in a week never ceases to amaze me.  I used seven pairs of drawers, and that was it. Yesterday I washed thirty six pairs of boxer shorts and fourteen pairs of socks.  I can sort of get the boxer shorts thing, as apparently, it is necessary to wear a pair under swim shorts to avoid chaffing. (As an ample-thighed woman, I do get this, and I suppose that wearing a pair of shorts underneath is preferable to walking like John Wayne, or having strangers think that you have piles.  I resort to tights....)

Anyway, it's all done, and I can go back to Binland this morning knowing that my house is in order again.

Going back to yesterday morning, the husband, having steeled himself for the short walk to the bathroom scales, announced that the diet would start right now.  Well I gave his diet announcement ten minutes, and true to form, he completely forgot and made us both heavily buttered bagels for breakfast.

'So much for the diet', I said.

'We'll start lunchtime', he said, melted butter dribbling down his chin.

At lunchtime (roast lamb as requested), we were joined by Miss R, my favourite nephew Master G and his beautiful girlfriend, Little Miss Sunshine (she's always happy so it's the perfect name for her).  Having troughed through home grown roasties and runner beans, cauliflower cheese, peas and yorkies, Miss R then produced sticky toffee puddings for one and all.

As the husband poured custard and cream (this is a Northern thing to do apparently) over his, I reminded him about the diet.

'Tomorrow.  We'll start tomorrow', he said, easing the top button open on his jeans.

Works for me...