My desk is clear of all the accumulated post-Christmas crap. It's the first thing you would have seen if you'd looked into my study. A pile of unfiled paper work and a miscellany of musical sheets, abandoned after music lessons. I could kid myself that it indicated a life well-lived, but in all honesty, it is a true reflection of the haphazard attitude I have, to order of any kind. I like order but find it hard to achieve.
Unless, that is, I get a phone call from our decorator who says that he finds himself unexpectedly available next week. Do I have any bijou projects he might be able to help with? My words not his. Our painter is not pretentious, whereas I have this creeping tendency after two glasses of red on a Saturday night. Did I mention it was Saturday night?
Yes, well. I obviously had to clear the study. The obviously bit, lies in the I not the study. As I don't expect you to know that the study is on our to-do list, and is quite way down, actually. Dearest, at the first whiff of domestic upheaval, headed for the office. Which, in fairness, he might well have done, anyway.
Some hours elapse. I put on the Welsh-Irish rugby match and start removing all the flotsam and jetsam to a different level. Or behind the sofa. Whichever is nearer. I take all the drinking vessels to a safe place upstairs. I clear all the boxes of CDs from under the chest to stack them in the other room. The pictures are off the walls. The lamps removed. We are talking empty. Echo-y. Clinically tidy. Un-me.
I put on the England v Scotland rugby match and put it on hold for Dearest's return. He comes home an hour later, just in time for the delayed start of the match. He walks into the study. I am waiting for the roll-me-over in-the-clover reaction..
"Jeez!" he says.
Good. Big reaction, I allow myself to smile.
"Where the bloody hell are the wine glasses?"
I cheered all the way through the match. For Scotland. Don't mess with a Celt.
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| Congrats to Ireland, as I drown my sorrows... |
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