I've just done a bit of a housework marathon... you could eat off every surface in the house. Except me. I'm not sure what I get wrong with housework but, rather than getting anything clean, I seem to just go through a gradual process of transferring the dirt on to myself.
To make matters worse, we also had the tennis on in the background which was making me feel like an obsessive clean freak because all I could do was comment on how gross the clay was getting everywhere. What with jabbering away about that, and having a sponge in my hand, I looked like an ever so slightly less glamorous Nora Batty. Thank heavens for having understanding housemates.
In case my life wasn't sounding glamorous enough, I am now going to catch up on the last two episodes of Dr Who that I've missed. I don't know how I've gotten this far behind but it's not a situation I can deal with much longer. The mountain of correspondence that evaded my grasp yesterday is just going to have to get dealt with once I've seen how the good Doctor and the ginger fitty escape the creepy goo people and get the TARDIS back on track.
This Sunday might actually be the best kind of Sunday because, not only have I been supremely productive (cleaning, second Ink rehearsal, blog, emails) I also have tomorrow off so there is no impending feeling of doom and gloom about having to go and sit in a