Snow means three things this time – running around and tramping in it; hearty meals, preferably in a pub or round a roaring fire; and being stuck in the house doing the cleaning that should have been done weeks ago.
Cal’s job is the hoovering. We keep forgetting that if he’s not here, one of us has to do it. On Friday night, I was really irritated with some blurry vision when I was looking at the fire. I’d resigned myself to eye test and new glasses, now that Chris has had to pay out for his Boxing Day glasses disaster.
Yesterday, I got out the hoover. And discovered that my vision was fine. It had been obscured by the spiders webs hanging from the top of the fire place. Coated in soot and ash and some cat fur.
You worked out yet what record you are breaking for Rosie?