Today it is May Day here in the UK. It’s a bank holiday, which means that the banks are closed, so apparently nothing functions, and thus plebeians such as me are allowed to stay at home and rest. Which is laughable because we’ve scheduled a cleaning orgy today.
One of the downsides to having moved out is that you can’t really hope that your mum will be sick of the utter devastation of a room and do it for you, so eventually I will have to do it myself. Or we in our case. Not that we ever let things go that far because of the knowledge that mum won’t come and clean.
Honestly? I’m a bit of a hawk about that, while Mark would probably be a bit more of a slob if I let him. I don’t want to live in a pig-sty, while the love of my life probably wouldn’t bother too much with a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and a collection of dust-bunnies under the bed. I keep myself, and him, in check and by now I don’t have to whine particularly much about things. They just get done.
And sometimes, these days, even he sits us down and says that on days like this we’re going to do the whole house; clean it from top to bottom. Wash the floors, vacuum the dogs, polish the china. Okay, we don’t have china to polish, but you get the idea.
That said, even if we actually plan to do things, we need to get off our collective arses and do them. But it’s nearly lunch time now, and neither of us have done a spittle of work all day. Mark watches the telly downstairs with Stephen, and I’m up here in our little office playing computer games, reading the social networks, and writing silly little blog posts like this.
I wonder if all the plans we’ve had are actually going to get done, or if we’re going to wake up tomorrow morning and think “Christ, it’s a pig-sty. We shouldn’t have been so lazy yesterday”.