The understairs cupboard. A half-term project. I still think in terms, after a life-time of school involvement.
I could spend the whole of half-term restoring order to the chaos that reigns supremely in that small cramped space. It is a self-perpetuating generator of bric a brac, Any order, ever imposed on it, is purely temporary.
This morning, I carefully removed a glass bottle of cherry juice, in readiness for the next gout attack. ( It may be more imminent than we think, after Beef Bourgignon this weekend, a lamb roast dinner on Sunday, and blow me down, if Dearest didn’t bring home, dressed crab after flying solo at Waitrose. That cherry juice has got to achieve some serious cleansing .. ) Then I started to remove bulky items that had been recently stashed in the speedy clear-up before guests. I was on a bit of a roll. I could actually see floor space. Unfettered enthusiasm is always dangerous in a confined space. I usually thump my head, at least once. Not so today. No head-banging for me. No indeedy. Instead, with incomparable flair, I manage to send a bottle of elderflower cordial crashing to the ground.
Glass and sticky viscous liquid all over the cupboard floor. And beyond.
It took me an hour to mop and sweep. I’m getting to be a dab hand at this malarkey after the bathroom mirror a couple of days ago.
And now, despite my best endeavours, I sound as though I am detaching myself from strips of Velcro wherever I walk. It’s enough to unhinge a girl. I dare say it will unhinge Dearest when he gets home from work.
He’ll ask me how my day has been,
“Pretty sticky," I will reply. “Fancy a glass of cherry juice and a crab sandwich?”
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| Make mine a small one. Actually, don't bother.. |
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