Dust and smells

Today certainly is Smells (thankfully out of doors in the yard) as my new bedside and sofa tables get their first coat of paint, but oh, that indoor Dust will take more than the combined forces of the LS, the sainted Margery and myself to conquer it. Remember that chapter in 'Titus Groan' where the dust in the Hall of Bright Carvings lies in centuries-old heaps on the floor, and as the carvings are dusted daily by Rottcodd the Curator, rises up in soft eddies behind him to settle lovingly on every item again? It's a bit like that here, with paw prints.

Margery is doing 2nd hoovering, with me following her with bucket and cloths, to wash down the staircase spindles and the doors. We are both very dusty. And tomorrow I shall do it all again, I just know it.

For those who asked or who are intrigued, the decision to move was made last year, with very welcome encouragement and support from other bloggers when I fell into despair. I'm planning to move away, and you can read about it here and in various agonised episodes thereafter, until I settled on Devon, went to have a look, and made up my mind.

And that means I must finish this house, and stop putting things off.  Both are unbelievably difficult things for me. Prevarication may be my middle name, but this week, with the Lovely Son in determined mood, I might be looking at a very small light at the end of the 28-year tunnel that is my house project. And then, who knows? I can start doing it all again, somewhere else. You can all come along for the ride anguish suspended disbelief laughs.