Lazy bones...

I had planned to do lots of stuff while the husband was away.  These included repainting the bathroom ceiling, clearing out all my kitchen cupboards, spring cleaning the husband's office (no mean feat, I can tell you - I prefer to go in with a chair and a whip such is my fear of what I may discover under all that paperwork on his desk), losing half a stone (excuse me while I just wipe the tears of laughter away), sorting out the husband's wardrobe, sorting out my wardrobe, clearing three of the four children's bedrooms and tidying the airing cupboard (if I could get through the door).

In my wilder dreams, I was also going to paint the front of the house (says the woman who hates heights and eyes every ladder warily), find a piece of carpet to repair the destroyed carpet on the stairs and clean all the windows on the inside.  For some reason, when alone, I believe I am capable of laying carpet - not too sure why I should that, as the nearest I've ever got to laying carpet is shaking out the front door mat on a Monday.

Anyway, half way through the husband's holiday, how much have I done.

Nothing.  Nada, Diddly squat...

All I have done is eat far too much food, resulting in a 3lb weight gain, drink Prosecco which gave me a lovely headache (before I went to bed, the best kind of headache), order some new clothes (don't tell the husband), and buy some fancy cushions for my sofas.  

I'm not really too worried though as I still have one free afternoon left, so I shall try and cram some jobs into that time.  However, I am up against a packet of digestives, a cup of tea and Tipping Point.  Tough adversaries when competing for time to do cleaning I'm afraid.

Talking of distractions, I had a lovely walk with Mrs P and Neville the Rottweiler yesterday afternoon.  The dogs are all particularly fond of a large pongy puddle which they always get to before me and Mrs P haul our sorry carcasses up the hill, and by the time we reached the dogs they'd all been in. 'Look at his legs', said Mrs P pointing at Neville.  Now Neville is twice the height of Percy and Reg, and Reg had a muddy Plimsoll Line just under his chin.  He looked like he'd been subjected to a weird game of Schnauzer Chocolate Fondue, and I knew that a bath would be on the cards when we got home.

Now my two hate baths.  I have to find them first as they go and hide, and once located, I have to carry them up to the bathroom as they sure as hell won't bloody walk.

I need to add something else to my list of chores now.  Cleaning the bathroom from top to bottom.

Boy, can those two shake...