Problem - I have too many socks. Now that I am a bum, I wear flip-flops all day long. Consequently there are no longer any socks working their way through the system; they are all clean and my sock drawer is overflowing to the point where it is almost impossible to close. And when I do need to go in there, for instance for a pair of walking socks, the action of pulling them out disturbs the delicate tessellation. You would think that removing a pair of socks would make the drawer that little bit easier to close but you would be wrong. You have to start over, and another precious two minutes when you could be damp-dusting is gone forever. So what should I do? Throw some socks away? Create a second sock stash somewhere? This is the kind of weighty issue that now consumes my every waking moment, and has been annoying me since about April. There is a similar issue with the shirt cupboard, but that is less of a problem as I go in there less frequently, and the overspill of shirts seems quite happy on the back of a chair where it has been since March. In fact the whole house is a bit of a tip. Look at this pile of filing that I have to do!
Note the caution employed before publishing this to the world wide web. Despite a readership numbering in the, oh, tens, you can never be too careful.
It is always the same. You do no filing for six months, and then do the whole lot in one day, and it takes hours. When it is finally over, you get that unique feeling of satisfaction as you bask in the extra 3 ft sq of floor space you have created. As you crack open the celebratory bubbly, you tell yourself very firmly that this WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN and that you will do the filing religiously every week at an allotted time. You are very serious about this commitment. After all, it is June and there are no birds to see anyway. The first week passes, and you suddenly find you have not even opened the post, let alone thought about filing it. So you don't bother, and slowly but surely a huge mound of paper builds up. You start off by putting it in neat piles on the kitchen counter. When the row of little piles reaches 6ft long and you can no longer make a cup of tea, the piles get moved upstairs, and the kitchen is a vision of loveliness once more. Out of sight, out of mind. Six months pass, and then one day you discover you live in a shit-hole. "Fuck it" you say, and go off and look at butterflies instead. But THE PILE IS STILL THERE, rankling, growing. You tell yourself you will definitely sort it out. Soon. Living the domestic dream. Anyway why can't people just stop sending me stuff?
Eating breakfast en famille this morning, we were surprised when our youngest spotted a "doggy" in the garden. It had buried some food in a large plant pot, and was craftily retrieving it piece by piece and slinking off to eat it behind the greenhouse. I was able to sneak out and position myself for when it came back for more - "click" - fair to say it was quite surprised. To show its appreciation for the friendly householder it left a smeary shit on the lawn after I had gone back inside. Nice doggy.
"Why is there a man in pants crouching near my toilet?"
One more piece of news - another addition to the reading list on the right. Deserves a link on the basis of this post alone. As a recent employee of a large multi-national, and all the utter bollocks that goes with it, this left a big grin on my face. I look forward to using it when I start to look for work again.
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