having to do stuff

It's just constant, one thing after another, at the moment.

Project management with tradespersons! The tree man was great, but I had to make him coffee. The stump grinder man was good too, but he liked to chat, so I had to do small talk. I once me someone who bought a cement mixer and kept it in his garden, so that if he ever needed a cementing job done, he could do it himself instead of having to deal with a tradesman.

I'm acting as travel agent for Albert's world tour of the motherland, fatherland, new world and middle kingdom. Complicated by having to allow at each step for the possible addition of Albert's other half, if/when she commits.

I used to clean the house every fortnight. Now that we have a husband and wife cleaner coming in to do the cellmate's cell and the common areas, I was looking forward to (ahem) washing my hands of the cleaning. But no! On the nights before the cleaners come, I have to clear up the whole house, because they can't clean when there's a mess in their way. They're not interested in actual cleaning, only in keeping somewhere clean that's already clean.

The woman's a devil who hates her job, and takes it out on the fixtures. Already she has shredded one of the venetian blinds and scored the fridge door. So now, before she starts I have to remember to raise the blinds and clean the fridge door to save her scraping it. Long-term readers will remember this is the very reason I didn't want to get the new kitchen in the first place. Once you've got something nice, you want it to stay nice.

Because the cleaner used soap on the floor the first time, I slipped and fell over. Could have busted a pelvis if I'd been as old as some of the folk what come to this blog. So now I also have to remember to put out a bottle of vinegar for her to use instead.

Tomorrow the shower screen's being replaced, but only after about a month of research and tendering by yours truly. Dismantling the old screen has been a real puzzle, it was well constructed with concealed screws and rivets.

If I could leave tomorrow on Albert's holiday, I would. As Dazzle used to say, it doesn't really matter where you're going, the best part of any holiday is the start, when you're getting drunk on a plane.

For now, the high point of the day is falling happily into bed with an electric blanket that's been on half the day. Bliss!