Drifting about in a dressing gown, drinking tea, and thinking about nothing very much all morning would have to change into something more productive.
So last night I made a Resolution. I would get going earlier each day, and try to Accomplish Something before lunchtime. This would mean spending less time at my computer reading other people's blogs, my own emails, anything that took my fancy in the vast ocean of useless information that is Google.
I even made a list, filled with vague generalisations like: kitchen bags. Too vague, actually; I now have no idea what I meant. But I do understand seed trays, pond liner, ironing. I especially understand small attic, and that in itself is a terrifying prospect.
So far so good. So far today:
More than an hour spent working on the allotment. Bees, butterflies, birds, tra la. Tidying, weeding, planning. A snapshot of Eddie the Poisoner's latest contraption to keep the squirrels off his bird feeders; they can't quite climb the plastic piping and they slide to the ground, defeated. He is thrilled; his war might even be won.
Almost emptying the sitting room so that Wally (the painter and decorator so beloved of Millie when she was a kitten) can paint tomorrow. And only now, as I write this, do I remember that I was getting my own paint, and that I'd put it off, until I forgot. Thank goodness Homebase is open till 8 p.m. The kitchen is full of sitting room furniture, and the cats are wildly excited by it. Moving a little chest of drawers, the underneath of which I thought I'd blocked off to avoid every cat toy in the house ending up there, I found this little cache:
I noticed that my sansiveiria (Mother in Law's Tongue) was in flower. The flowers are small and easily missed; they exude a small sticky drop of nectar, and have a faint sweet smell. Mine was rescued many years ago, on the point of death, from the desk of a vicious plant-killer work colleague, and although it has remained wonky and misshapen, I have to admire its persistence.
I responded to a Freecycle notice and picked up a pair of Dartington glass candleholders, thickly encrusted with old wax. They cleaned up beautifully.
And I read your blogs, checked my emails, vacuumed the stairs (Margery is having a 'procedure' tomorrow - more of that in due course when we find out if we should stay worried or not), and decided that this new productive life would be ok after all.
Still wondering though: what could kitchen bags mean......?