Goodness less me

I hopped on the scales this morning to find I am rapidly diminishing. It is amazing what a job and watching what goes into your cakehole can do i.e. less cake. The job does not involve passing the fridge all the time and feeling obliged to eat something from it. We have no fridge. I am lighter. Shame I am going to France next week .... Oh those cake shops!

Pack up your troubles in several enormous kit bags

I never want to see another piece of bubblewrap in my whole life.  I wrapped and packed and boxed and stacked until I had ...... not really made even a small indent on the stuff.  Men came to the aid of the party and kind friends packed up my kitchen and turned the flat into Box City.  Then they cleaned the windows and emptied the rubbish.  Thank you.  I love East Wittering; how I will miss you.  But, as Will pointed out, the bungee has not been severed and Mad Mary's B&B is always there.

Dilemma du jour

Mrs Smith is in a bit of a tizz. I have sold my seaside flat but I don't want to move to Kent; I hate Kent. I like West Sussex. Mr Smith wants a small place, I want a big place. I want to slob about, shuffle along the beach with my fat dog and eat cupcakes and do arty things. Mr Smith wants to play lots of sensible golf. What it comes down to is big place = no money for furniture, small place = no need for furniture. Anyway, I hate Kent and will probably never go there.... but I might change my mind.

I still love my job.

Odds and sods

Strange things that I discovered today: The longest way is the quickest way to work. All artists (so far) are lovely. The layout for this blog entry has a new format which has taken me quite by surprise. Could we have the old one back? I liked it better. Mr Smith can be rather demanding when it comes to receipts. I have never kept a receipt for anything in my whole life. This means I will have to pay hideous amounts of unnecessary tax. I will just have to make some up.

Spreading it thin

It is that time of year again when Mrs Smith gets out her hoe and inspects the weeds before planting acres of vegetables that produce two weedy beans and a pea. It's hard work this gardening business. My little potager is a backbreaking affair that takes many an hour of hard labour with no hosepipes allowed this year. Oh well, I have at least made a start.

I have now been approached by the Olympic arty people to do Olympic arty things. This is at the same time as my BT arty thing. Then of course there is own arty thing. Amongst all this there is the matter of selling a flat and buying another one. Oh, and a holiday. It's all go being me.

Last week of April so I have to finish my two April paintings. May might be a bit of an effort and June even more of a squeeze. However, if I don't want to end up with a diabolical December, I had better just find those extra hours and paint my butt off. Perhaps Mr Smith could clean the house and grow the vegetables - he prefers to buy them all done for you from Sainsburys. I only do that when he's not looking then I chuck a bit of earth on them and pretend I managed abundant crops.

Today

Ooooooh I absolutely love my job. Lovely arty people come and paint the telephone boxes and I float about being helpful then we all have donuts for tea.

About Kent

A bungalow is a bungalow and some of them have gnomes.

Off to Kent

Today I am house hunting whilst Mr Smith plays golf in silly trousers. This really is a matter of finding something interesting in order to prevent Mr Smith buying something ghastly. I do not want to buy Granny's naff bungalow; I want the Old Vicarage or Harbourmaster's house. Well, OK, maybe my budget isn't quite that elastic but I am looking for something characterful.

Romney Marsh is so super moonscapey with Dungerness nuclear power station looming in the background. Sheep graze on the salt marshes and glow in the dark. There is a slight problem with the little local airport which is threatening to extend its runway and bring in jumbos. Ah, that explains why the properties are so cheap. The wheels of the aircraft will just clear the roofs of the houses like Hounslow. Oh well. I am sure we will get used to it. Or make a terrible mistake.

I am actually a bit tired what with all the flat selling, new job and exciting life I have been leading. I would like a little rest but Mr Smith is chivvying me to get packed up and off to Kent. Let me just curl up and have a little afternoon nap. No, Mr Smith tells me I can't go to the B&B before 4pm. Oh I hate Mr Smith's holidays.

Suddenly flavoursome

The crack in the wall of my bedroom at the sea was deemed no big deal by all parties and, having bribed the surveyor, it will be mended and paid for by the management company. Oh wow.
I love my seaside flat and I am not sure I am entirely ready to leave it. Perhaps something will go wrong and the buyers will pull out. Mr Smith would be terribly cross. I wouldn't mind all that much.

My new job is lovely. I really am queen and my subjects are most charming. I have my own office and absolutely nothing to do except be nice and smiley. I would pay to do this job.
Mind you nobody has arrived yet, just a few spooky white phone boxes that look like they have landed from another planet.

I had my nails done then went to the hairdressers today. How spoilt!

I have been offered another job working on an Olympic project. The high jump or synchronised swimming? No it's another big art project and it is very exciting. I already love the sound of it. I just cannot believe anyone would want to employ little old me. Perhaps I am not quite as pants as Mr Smith thinks. Just because I am not brilliant at ironing or washing up doesn't mean I can't run a big art project. I mean look at the Queen, she doesn't do any housework at all and she can rule a whole kingdom and some commonwealth bits too.

Hi ho

My new job starts in a couple of hours. What shall I wear? Dirty overalls rather than a cocktail dress is probably the order of the day. Oh. Well maybe I will try to look nice then pop my overalls on top of my clothes and look like I mean business. Right, that rules out anything flouncy.

I am then off to the sea to find out just how awful the crack in the wall is and whether my flat has failed the survey and we are back to square one. Actually, I would just get it repaired and find another buyer. Sounds simple but we will see. Failing that I will fill the crack with toothpaste.

Hair and nails on Friday. A girl needs a little maintenance from time to time.

Serious house hunting on Saturday. I have to direct Mr Smith away from a hideous old people's bungalow. Honestly, sometimes I think he was born an old man. He is 53 not 80 and I have to have a holiday home that doesn't make me feel violently unwell. I am not living in a horrid bungalow full stop. You can't even make it "pretendy trendy" i.e. plaster ducks, larva lamps, hideous 50s wallpaper and a cuckoo clock. Nobody would get it, least of all Mr Smith.

Who's Queen?

Now you are not going to believe this, as I hardly do myself, but I am starting work tomorrow with a proper contract and everything. I am to be The Manager. You can call me Queen Manager or Your Most Majestic Illustrous Manager but not Manageress as that doesn't sound quite the same at all.

I am reading the life story of Isabella Blow who I knew vaguely when I was at school in Oxford. Gosh, what a load of rubbish. I remember her boyfriend, William, borrowing a friend's car but failing to tell him and then being arrested but it was all sorted out amicably. In the book it claims that William had a penchant for stealing cars and joyriding. Issie had a reasonable allowance but always overspent but in the book it is claimed her father was a mean and cruel man because he wouldn't give her more money to buy a ridiculously expensive dress. Spoilt brat comes to mind.

Mr Smith must be quite pleased with me because when I muttered something about popping over to Nevis for a bit of painting he thought it a grand idea. Oh. I thought he would be horrified by such expense and exterminate me on the spot. It woudn't be til the end of my Managering which is August. Then we have to buy a house. Oh it really is exciting being me.

I've started so I'll finish

It's raining - oh good, that means no hula hooping in the garden, or gardening. I will go swimming like a duck. I mean, they don't mind the rain rather than I will glide along serenely whilst my feet paddle furiously beneath me. I think something a bit more froglike will be me.

I am not working ... Project is still postponed. Now due to start on Thursday which is mighty inconvenient as I am due to see a surveyor at my seaside flat about a big crack down my bedroom wall on Thursday. However, being in two places at once is something I am quite good at so I will somehow manage both warehouse and crack inspection all on one day. The crack has never worried me but prospective buyers are screaming so I thought I had better get it looked at.

Maybe I will finish a painting this week. I have one which is confusing me so I have just put it on hold but maybe if I give it my all I will conquer it. At least Mr Smith hasn't been to inspect and asked that awful nagging question "Why have you started something new before getting anything finished?" No idea, I was wondering the same thing myself.

Hula hooping is very very difficult.

Excitements

I was just thinking mmmm What shall I do today? Shall I haul my big fat self to the swimming pool and displace water or shall I do my planting? There was a frost last night so perhaps I should hold off the planting. Swimming seems a bit like hard work. I will think about it some more. I will paint a painting with my new paints and do some hulaing with my hula hoop then I will find out if I am starting work tomorrow and what I need to bring with me. So exciting.

I am very excited about selling my flat. I am also very excited about my trip to the Kent seaside next weekend when I can sniff out places for sale. But I am most excited about my forthcoming holiday to France. Oh it is just so exciting being me.

Go fly a kite

Gosh what an exciting weekend I had. All go at the seaside. I went to a residents meeting to gloat over the sale of my flat but I then realised this is subject to the people actually buying it. These things are never quite like buying a cabbage. Much sniffing of the cabbage has to go on and other parties are invited to sniff too then greengrocers have to swap paper and months go by until you wonder if you will ever get rid of your smelly old cabbage. Then of course there is the matter of finding a nice new cauliflower.

The prospective buyers want everything in the flat so perhaps I didn't need all the cardboard boxes and tape that I insisted on buying and ramming into Mr Smith's very full car. I spent much of the weekend clearing out my garage and I really did a very good job. I had a master plan of three piles... Keep, chuck and give away. I took a load of stuff to the Cat and Rabbit charity shop. Then of course I had heart wrenching moments of Oh no, not the kites, I like our kites even if I have never actually flown one. I invited a few people in to scavenge ... Everything free, take what you like .. No not the kites. They went away empty handed with me pursuing them with rusty screwdrivers, a waffle maker, a cloudy larva lamp and a bottle of Baileys with a tiny dribble in the bottom. But it's all free ... Don't go. This morning Mr Smith loaded it all into his car and we had an outing to the tip. I retrieved the kites.

New things

I may have sold my flat. There are two interested parties and they are both offering super duper money. Oh this is brill. Belt tightening over, what shall I buy?

First purchase - packing boxes, bubble wrap and tape. Then off to the seaside to start packing it all up. Actually, maybe I should wait til the people have actually agreed to buy it. No, I am too excited and I love packing things.

Oh, by the way, it did rain and thunder late yesterday so maybe that weather forecast was right after all. Not sure about the tunnel vision or whatever it was, I don't think I had that.

Ooooh so exciting lots of parcels have arrived, luckily just as Mr Smith has gone out to get his hair cut. These are all Internet buys made before I realised I was poor. My new Hoopla hoop has arrived and it's lovely - all pink and stripey; shame I can't hula. I will try harder. All my new paints have just come - Oh no, we are off to the seaside but I want to paint now. New equipment is just so lovely. A new seaside house will be even more lovely.

Observations of the Day

To all weather forecasters, you harbingers of doom, it is not a morning of "thunderstorms, lightning and hail with the possibility of funnel clouds" whatever they are. It is so sunny and bright that I have just been for an outdoor swim and very lovely it was too.

Zoe Ball, fashioning slippers out of croissants is a wonderful idea, especially if you are two and have teeny little feet. Quite delicious.

I am trying to think up creative things to do with a watermelon other than carve it into a Mayan statue, spit the pips competitively or just eat it. It is very big and gets boring quite quickly. I am looking for interesting recipes such as duck a la watermelon or watermelon bolognese. Aha, here it is www.watermelon.org. A whole site dedicated to a bit of pink pulp, who'd have thought it? Mind you the watermelon colada looks rather good ... with rum but I might give the watermelon lasagne a miss.

Maid Marion Smith

My headache diminished gradually but I had become so used to sitting around feeling sorry for myself that I did some more out of habit. I seem to have grown roots that are embedded
in our sofa. Today I will wrench myself up and out and take some long ovedue exercise. I have a slight headache but I think it's a different variety of headache probably from being so lazy. Mr Smith can applaud my effort. He won't.

At 6pm I remembered I was supposed to tidy my desk. Mr Smith came home half way through. Are you still doing that? Yes, it took me the whole day. I opened a festering bank statement to discover I am hideously overdrawn. Oh. This might have something to do with the vast amounts of money I have spent recently but I blamed it on Mr Smith for stealing it and not giving me enough. He is a right little Robin Hood when he puts his mind to it.

So I am now looking at ways of economising. Dog, you can have cheaper food. Mr Smith, so can you. I have to go to the supermarket today for eggs and loo paper - smart price varieties. Do you think poor people steal loo paper from loos they visit? I might find out how you surreptitiously stuff a few rolls up your jumper or hide the wall mounted dispenser in your handbag. No, a life of crime would not suit me at all. I am going to do this honestly. I will borrow the loo paper and give it back when we have used it.

Only three weeks til we go to France. None of my clothes fit. Time for some drastic action. No food much movement. OK some food but only skimpy amounts accompanied by an olympian training programme. Alternatively, I could just go to France fat.

Chop my head off ... Please.

New theory about my ghastly headaches... I think they are fuelled by chocolate. With it being Easter I have rather overdone the brown stuff recently. My head still hurts but a bit less today. These vile headaches only ever last for three days so this should be the final bit then I can move again rather than carefully sit in the same position holding my brain in place all day long which I can assure you is absolutely no fun at all. Maybe it will shift by this afternoon because I am getting mighty bored with this. "Come to a lovely party". Oh how kind, I would love to but sadly I have to put my head in a vice today.

Oh, an email has come flooding in from BT people. So it looks like I am working for them .... But not yet. Oh, we are all going to Lewisham.... Lewisham? Where's that? It sounds the sort of place where people get shot. I will tidy my underpants drawer before I go there. I want to know I am leaving my affairs in order before I undertake such a dangerous mission.

Mr Smith has decreed I am to tidy my desk. Oh God. This is a good day's work. There has been a slight attitude of "Where shall we put this? Ah the desk looks a good place." The result is a Kilamanjaro arrangement of stationery, socks, bills, receipts, bank statements, letters of great importance, paint pots, plants, broken things and hairbrushes. That knicker drawer is going to have to wait.

Crunchy Aspirin sandwiches

It's a lovely sunny day now that the Easter break is over when it did nothing but pour with rain. Prospective buyers are viewing my seaside flat today and sunshine is an essential ingredient. In a way I don't want them to like it because at last the flat is mine all mine and I have no tenants taking over it, making it theirs and breaking things. I love my seaside flat in the sky. I hope Mr Smith realises what an unselfish act I am making by selling it and spending all the money .... on me.

I have just watched something quite funny on YouTube. There is a photographer on Nevis who I don't particularly like - nor does anyone else - as she is a bossy pain in the arse. Anyway in this clip she is giving an interview about her rubbish book of awful photographs standing in her garden when an aeroplane flies overhead, then the person next door starts mowing, then she has a fight over the page turning with the young presenter followed by a noisy vehicle going past. Oh it's a gem! You would have thought they might have abandoned the interview or chosen somewhere a little less near the road but then everything that woman does is wholly unprofessional and it made me laugh.

I am supposed to be starting work today. Actually, I was supposed to be starting last week but things have got held up and nobody has told me what the score is. I have absolutely no idea if I am supposed to tip up with my step ladders and jolly disposition or whether I am to stay at home with the same dreary headache I have had for most of the weekend. It is a sort of sinus thing with a brain tumor on the side and is most debilitating. On a good note it makes me very unhungry so I have managed to lose some of the horrific amount of weight I piled on over Easter. If I went to work I might be able to shake it off. If I stay at home I will probably cultivate it.

I am thinking of taking up Tai Chi. I know yoga isn't for me because when I tried it once I got into a panic because I couldn't bend like all the other rubber people in the class and the whole thing gave me a deep tension headache for several days after. Actually, this is just really lazy PE in your pyjamas. Perhaps I ought to drag my fat arse back to Zumba dancing. It's good for me, if I don't die half way through that is.

Eaty Easter

I did finish a painting as I intended and I felt enormously satisfied and ate vast amounts of chocolate in celebration. I now feel a bit sick. Oh I absolutely love Easter. Mr Smith cooked the family dinner and today he can do the family washing up; I'll dry. 
Here's what I love ... Finding something you had completely forgotten about in the freezer. Yesterday it was strawberries so I made strawberry and rhubarb crumble and it was just so scrumptious I had to have thirds. I have managed to put on a stone in the past three days. This is my best ever. Now to remedy the situation ... Groan.

Happy Easter

I managed to rid my house of the stench of boiled vinegar by opening every single window, making a cake, baking bread (the usual hefty variety) and hoovering all soft surfaces and polishing all hard surfaces. I am exhausted but it does smell better. I did not resort to Glade or any other vomit inducing smells in a can. I picked some daffs but they didn't really make a great effort; their absence in the garden is notable.

My father really isn't awfully well. I think his new aorta is doing its thing but it's still the new boy and settling in is taking time. He went to see a doctor who shoved him in hospital where he received lots of different diagnoses until House (Head Honcho) appeared and assured him there was nothing wrong, he did not need to inject himself in the stomach with warfarin several times an hour or die of thrombosis and after three days was sent home. He is getting better.

I will finish a painting today. There, I have written it down so it has to happen. I only have a tricky bit of window to do then posh up the palm trees and it's done. Then I can eat loads of Easter eggs and cook the pascal lamb with red currant jelly and teeny potatoes. Oh, actually it looks like pascal pork; Mr Smith did the shopping.

Oooooh it's raining. Well, if you were my garden you would be thrilled. If you were Mr Smith heading for the golf course you would be less thrilled.

Bring up the Branston

My news:Spun eggs don't work, my chutney stinks and I have a period.

Honestly, am I to be Britain's oldest menstruating woman? The only upside to this somewhat dull event is it gets me out of a really dreary do - Mr & Mrs Catatonic's annual Boat Race party. He always makes a point of telling us how he has just flown in from Thailand especially to be there whilst his poor wife trawled M&S for the eats. He usually implies he has had to drag himself out of the fleshpots of Bangkok to join us. I feel rather sorry for Mrs C but then I think it gives her a break from the tediousness of Mr C. On the grounds that I can't give a toss whether Oxford or Cambridge sink and I find watching 16 little ants rowing twigs down the Thames from Mr Catatonic's roof garden a hideously unexciting event (please don't step on the Feng Shui gravel or touch the Rune stones ... they saw him coming!), I am feigning terrible period pains and staying in prostrate upon the sofa with a really crappy film for mental stimulation. Actually, I have a hangover from over imbibement of fine wines (cheap Soave) but don't tell Mr Smith or his dreary golf cronies.

I made chutney yesterday afternoon. I did exactly as Delia prescribed, boiling it all up for three and a half long hours. Our house is overcome with the smell of boiled vinegar. Every soft surface has ingested the stench that makes your eyes stream and your throat close up. I have opened every window and door ... wide .... to no effect; now the garden smells too. And don't tell me it will have gone by tomorrow because it is tomorrow and it hasn't. I know it is several months until the chutney matures by which time the smell might have dissipated. Next time we need chutney Mr Smith will buy some.

Wonderful Easter coven meeting, prior to the chutney situation when my house just smelt of dog and boys. The Lovely Claudia bought me daffodils and the Marvelous Mad Carina gave me a telephone box keying which could be topical but I am not exactly sure. I was just thinking a present or two is just what I need to make the world a cheerier place. Oh brilliant friends. The Lovely Claudia showed me how to Hula whilst Mad Carina was a brilliant audience. She thought my cheapie hoop from Asda was rather painful as it has ridgy bits that dig into you. I have ordered a posher one from Amazon and am particularly looking forward to Gary the Postman delivering it. I gave them cupcakes to take home. Next time I'll do party bags.

I have just found a request on Freecycle for jam jars with lids. Do you think they'd mind if some are full of chutney?

Good Friday

Oooooh Goody it's almost time to start the chocolate fest, not that it ever ended. I performed no Lenten vigil this year. Sorry God.

We are absolutely overrun with chocolate here. My mother bought me a strange but beautiful half egg from M&S but I forgot and bought a little smarties chicken for myself in case nobody got me anything. Then when I got eggs for the customers (our boys) there was a special offer of three for two so I thought I could have one of those too. Then Mr Smith, in a rare moment of generosity, bought me a Belgian chocolate egg ... I know because I snooped and found a very beautiful package. Then the Apprentice came home with an egg and a mug just for me. I also bought loads of teeny cadburys mini eggs and a few cream eggs. Oh chocolate heaven ... or maybe too much of a good thing. Come to us for an Easter Egg hunt.

Have you heard of spun eggs? Apparently they are very popular in Japan. You put a raw egg in a stocking and hold both ends and spin it with its shell on so the white and yolk mix together. Then you boil your egg and what you get is scrambled egg in its shell. A bit confusing and my toasty soldiers have gone off in a huff. Anyway, isn't that the whole point of an egg to have a hard white and soft yolk and a session with Delia Smith if you get it wrong?

I bought myself a hula hoop in a bid to get fit and thin and bendy and all that stuff. I can't do it. I'll wait til Mr Smith is at golf and have another go. The hoop is rather heavy... So am I.

Mrs Smith Super Sleuth

I finished a painting, wheeeee, zipperdidee. Only sixteen more to go. Actually I have nearly finished another one too. It's a jungle factory at the end of my garden. I might get painting number 2 finished today then I can add more to 3, 4 or 5.

I went shopping yesterday in Asda. It was vile: screaming kids, horrible people, big queues and it all gave me a headache. I think I will leave this task to Mr Smith in the future even if he has a tendency to come back with only half the things. I will live without wild coriander and salsify if it means not visiting a supermarket. When I got home I had to eat all my shopping especially some particularly delicious chocolate biscuits and hot cross buns and shortbread and crisps that were on special offer - ooh they were nice. It wasn't so much greed as curiosity.

I don't know what has happened to Valentina, our new pregnant-with-twins neighbour. She arrived one day then disappeared. She hasn't been anywhere near the house for three weeks and I wonder if she has been kidnapped. Her twins are due next week. Apparently she is the mistress of some Russian millionaire here in London. A woman wearing sunglasses was sitting in a car parked outside my house for ages yesterday. But then it was sunny and I think her kid was having a piano lesson in the house opposite. A man was stalking me around the supermarket but I managed to shake him off; I had to do some really complicated aisle changes and totally lost my way round my list. Anyway, I am super suspicious now.

Will they, won't they?

My big walk was amazing, especially the City bit which took in all the fab sights: St Paul's, The Gherkin, LLoyds, Leadenhall Market, The Guildhall, Monument, The Tower and the River - Oh wow. I got a bit delayed by traffic lights, sandwich shops and going the wrong way but I got back to the start just as it started to rain. "How many times did you get lost then?" asks Mr Smith. Well there was that tricky bit round St Paul's and then that really odd bit after that and I followed the river for miles forgetting to turn off to see the Queen. "None, I followed the map that I had carefully memorised and my natural sense of direction did the rest". He's still laughing.

I might never walk again I feel so stiff. I think a very light swim and a gentle dip in the jacuzzi are called for.

I have a nasty feeling I am not going to be working on telephone boxes. If BT and NSPCC are quibbling over the teeny weeny rates on the rent free warehouse I have found them then how on earth are they going to find the money to pay me? I mentioned it to Mr Smith who tells me he has had a bet going for sometime. Oh!

Marathon Woman

Today I am going on an adventure. I am going to walk the Olympic Marathon. This is from Buck House to the Tower of London and back. I must avoid the changing of the guard. I got caught up in that once before and I don't remember exactly what happened but I think I only narrowly escaped jail.

Actually you feel a bit of a prat walking around London in a track suit and trainers but a marathon in heels? No.

I still have a cold. This will just mean lots of nose blowing on walk. Must pack bog roll in back pack along with water or energy drink, first aid kit, phone, map, compass, tent, cooking stove and thermos.

Wish me God Speed.

Worm catching

Feeling all super enthusiastic I went swimming very early. The pool was full of Judith Big Bra and the keenies, some of whom I am convinced used to be Olympic swimmers. After a while they all left, probably having completed their miles in half an hour. I fatly ploughed on celebrating my solitary state, feeling at one with the chlorine.

I made bread; it's very doughy. I did the ironing; it looks a bit crumpled. Add bitty hoovering, smeary washing up and streaky dusting and you will understand why I am not gardening; I am fatigued from all those other badly done tasks. Maybe I will have an afternoon nap.

Telephone boxes is on hold for a bit. It's all got a teeny bit delayed. Good, more time to play and paint pictures and not be hassled by anything more taxing than Mr Smith and the customers (our sons). I'm beginning to enjoy this project.

Lucky for some

Did you win the New York lottery? No, me neither. I did buy a lottery ticket for last night here but I don't think I matched the numbers. Having said that, I asked the Best Boy to check my numbers on the Internet. He told me I hadn't been lucky but then said he was just off out. Where's the ticket? I will take a good look at what he's wearing when he comes back.

Happy April

Lovely sunny day of the sort that looks much warmer than it actually is. I really do have a cold. It's not yet in my head just in my nose but I have a nasty feeling it will get worse before it gets better.

I feel all spring cleany today so I got Mr Smith up super early so he can go to the tip. I then cleaned the bedroom, sorted out my shoes and did over my sock drawer ... a bit. I threw away all unmatching socks; I have given up on their friends ever turning up. Bet they do. Now I will change the sheets, air the duvet out of the window like everyone does in Europe ... well in clean countries like Scandinavia, perhaps not France where they merely turn the hay occasionally.

Mr Smith does a very annoying thing when he goes to the tip. He goes around the house and garden picking things up and saying "Is this for the tip?". Except he does it quite aggressively to imply that I shouldn't have left it there if it isn't to be thrown away. This applies this morning to a garden fork, a brand new printer I can't get to work because it needs the Internet or something, a new summer top still in its bag because it's for the summer ... and the dog. No you cannot throw away the dog even if he has emptied the rubbish bag all over the floor. Oh no, I've just looked out of the window to see our perfectly serviceable garden umbrella hanging out the back of his car as he sails off to Wandsworth. I put it near the bins for winter storage.