It is 10am.
I have already succeeded (I use that word advisedly, and quite probably incorrectly) in the following:
- Washing the dishes from yesterday evening’s meal, which includes the grill pan after sausages, and a saucepan with mashed potato remnants. Two of my absolute faves.
- Vacuuming the kitchen floor and under the tables in the breakfast room where the cat seems to shed more fur than he actually wears on a more-than-weekly basis.
- Mopping the kitchen floor to try and remove the various unexplained stains and smears that most definitely have nothing to do with my culinary catastrophes.
- Taking in the post (none of it for me) and the milk from the step.
- Completing my daily diary – for the wrong day. (In fairness to myself, days are pretty much all the same and who will ever care if I have listed my exciting Sainsbury’s trip inaccurately. As long as there is never a police investigation for which evidence will be needed…maybe I should change it after all? Or maybe I have watched too many detective procedurals on TV?)
- Almost getting rid of today’s headache. Almost. Not completely. Still there. Making me annoyed. Can you tell?
Look on the bright side. I can tick some things off my to-do list and feel better about myself.
Except I don’t. Grrrrr.