The Slag Heap....

OK, there's no denying it, lately I've lapsed into downright slovenly. In fact, I've just moved my arm like a windscreen wiper across my desk, in an effort to reach the keyboard. Good news though, found a toffee. Lately, in trying to finish editing my book, write a resplendent synopsis and entertain buckets of guests, I have ignored the house. It's now un-ignorable (I can TOO make up words if I want to!)

Years ago, I bought a hilarious book for my sister entitled The Slag's Almanack by Serena Gray. I may need to borrow it back.....Serena maintains that, [as opposed to The Slob]....
...The slag, on the other hand, blends into the crowd. You have to look to spot a slag; you have to know the signs. Under normal circumstances, the slag looks just like you or me (indeed, the slag probably is you or me). The slag is not without manners, good sense, or personal esteem. The slag is a person who understands that the putting on of any garment in a light colour – especially if it is new or fresh from the laundry – is asking for trouble. He, or she, knows the minute you don anything lighter than charcoal (especially if it wasn’t cheap), dirt and stains are attracted to it like those determined old moths to that steady old flame. The slag, discovering a coffee stain on her new blouse, will put a jacket or a jumper over it and go to work.

...jolly good idea if you ask me. I'd like to testify, I'm a slag and I want to repent.

Generally husband does the laundry here, (no, you cannot borrow him!) so I'm lucky, as are my friends, to be kept in fresh pants..... No he doesn't do theirs too, they're just lucky because I smell fresh as a daisy. I've read my contract with hubby; he washes and I'm supposed to iron and put away. What I actually do, is store it carefully in those huge blue Ikea bags. So neat, so portable, so not ironed. I iron when he gently reminds me that he is a businessman who goes to meetings and pays for the house, food, school, outings....Fair enough....

It's got so bad I'm not even phased when the chickens come in, although even they don't stay long, preferring their own tidy house.

Yesterday I sent my synopsis off into the ether all-by-itself. It's never left home before and so I'll wait to hear if it hits the spot or if I get a 'see me' from the recipient. So now, on this lovely fresh day, I'm having a swift blog, a check if we have a bloody PM yet and a BIG clean of the house.

On the PM bit, isn't it all a bit like Lost or 24? You start off with good intentions, keen to watch each episode, but as the drama gets more complicated and drawn out, you retreat to your book for book-club: I'm reading Miss Garnet's Angel by Salley Vickers at the mo. Loving it.