Can't type for long today. I have to do some of that dreaded and dratted housework stuff because we are having An Overnight Visitor. I've known about this for a couple of weeks, at least, and progress has been made on Spare Room #2, thanks to The Redoubtable Husband backed up by my encouragement. Unfortunately this has been at the expense of the landing. Which is indescribable, so I won't describe it.
I've never been able to meet a deadline halfway. It's not until the finishing tape is twanging right under my nose that the focus, determination and energy build up under the stress of how little time is left, and the job gets done. The essay gets written the night before the tutorial, the revision is done in the wee small hours of the day of the exam, and the hem on the dress is finished half an hour before leaving the house for the party.
I could have done a lot more it yesterday evening (I managed to make the bed and suck up some of the grot) but yesterday evening The Husband and I had dinner a deux in the dining room - with candles, cut glass and fond glances - because The Lodger has gone off Oop North on work-related travel. I cooked confit de canard, with little roast potatoes done in the excess duck fat out and haricots verts. Why do haricots verts go so well with confit de canard? They don't go very well with anything else so far as I am aware. But with confit de canard it's French alchemy - the slightly sour and puritanical greenness of them cuts the unctuous deliciousness of the very naughtily calorific duck and it's a marriage made in heaven on a plate.
That was a digression from typing about housework, and typing about housework is a digression from actually doing any housework. Do you see how my mind works? It's in an eternal fugue from repetitive physical labour. But time catches up with me and waits for no woman, and The Vistor will be here late afternoon. I must bid you adieu and turn and face the horrors awaiting me on the landing, which I STILL cannot bring myself to describe. You've done nothing to deserve it, Dear Reader, that I should leave you with such a paralysingly hideous image in your mind's eye. I am away to fight my demons.
Just as soon as I've had another cup of coffee, had a bath and washed my hair.
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