lemon garden

Ah, my life is chock-a-block with excitement. Today I did the following:

• vacuumed;
• dusted;
• polished;
• cleaned the bathroom;
• cleaned the kitchen (including the cooker!);
• cleaned the doors of those greasy fingerprints left behind by my uncivilised habit of pushing them open without using the doorhandle;
• cleaned assorted skirting boards;
• polished my shoes;
• washed the bathmats;
• changed the sheets on my bed;
• replaced the strings on my mandolin and both my guitars;
• watered the plants;
• and cooked a rather pleasant risotto for dinner.

Despite the domestic frenzy, I couldn’t quite bring myself to do the ironing. One can go too far with these things.

I also popped out to the shop to buy some bread, milk, eggs and butter. It occurs to me as I write this that I could make a bread and butter pudding with those ingredients. I haven’t eaten bread and butter pudding in years - what have I been doing with my time?

Anyway, when I got home I put the eggs in the fridge and I noticed that one had a few wisps of chicken feathers about it. I wonder if this means I’ve now got a fridge full of bird flu. Sorry, that should read “the deadly H5N1 strain” of bird flu. I think that must be the official name for the troublesome virus.

It’s funny really. You don’t often hear about “the deadly tuberculosis” or “the deadly malaria”. Nor, for that matter, do you hear about “the deadly measles” when a parent refuses an MMR jab for their child. Strange that.