Friday, Queen still dead. Toast and coffee with my meds, News is all dead monarch. I retreat to the Shed and spend the morning trying to recreate my own version of Alistair Cooke’s Letter from America. The IT will not play ball but in the end I get there. Its then a case of packaging it and getting it to the post office. The post person processes my padded envelope adn then drops in that I might be lucky. How come I ask. He then points out to me that as the Queen has died the post workers have abandoned their planned strike today so if I am lucky, they might actually pick it up today. He did not seem confident.
I return home and indulge in tomato soup while my partner gets ready to go and visit her mother. The moment she is out of the door I am a whirlwind of domestic cleanliness. My first task is to vacuum the Shed. For the first time in years the Shed gets cleaned up and finally looks reasonable. Then it’s on to the house. I am a blur of hoovering, dusting and shining. I empty bins and put clothes away. The real test was when I tried to finally get rid of the wad of bubble wrap that had been stuck in the bottom of our wheelie bin for ages. I get it out to discover a filthy, rancid sea of yuk at the bottom of the bin, Nothing for it but to clean the wheelie bin out. A lot of hot water, bleach and brushing finally got it clean. Not my favourite job. I go back to doing the house. The garden guy arrives and I feed him coffee and continue to busy myself with the cleaning. My final task is to throw yet more paperwork away, which leads me to write a quick letter and return a document. By now it is throwing it down and the gardener has left out of self-defence.
By now I am tired and return to the house to finish up tidying before my partner returns. We settle down to tea after watching the new king give his first national broadcast. I start to draft the blog as we decide how the evening will go. No football or rugby tonight due to the Queens death and no football over the weekend. Lots of reading time is my thought.
