Day three: a modicum of drift sets in

Day three has arrived and this quite eloquently illustrates the problem with being one of the Great Unwashed. Day two appears to have been one of drift, with a large degree of pottering going on to no great end.  That's not to say there wasn't an appreciable amount of washing up, tidying the back room and generally giving the house a zhuzh but the impetus to change the world this Tuesday appears to have got lost somewhere around toast and jam time.

To today therefore and the need to hit the ground running.  This was helped by the need to get up early to convey the eldest to his job in a fancy cafĂ©. That got me out of the house and enabled me to carry out some useful tasks including a spot of shopping and some banking for the village hall I help to run - all vital stuff, you understand.

One of the most curious problems I have encountered with this changed life is that my wardrobe is suddenly no longer suitable.  Having prioritised suits, shirts and formal shoes for many years - often being the butt of many jokes as I was entirely comfortable popping to the pub in my work suit, I now find myself rooting around in cupboards and drawers for newly essential items such as shorts and polo shirts.  Today, therefore, I had to devote some time to that most loathed of activities: clothes shopping. I visited all the emporia in the local town - this takes about 15 minutes - and ended up going to one of those shops I have previously rushed past lest my complete lack of style be somehow cruelly enhanced, where I purchased some nice polo shirts instead of the usual supermarket tat I usually content myself with, being served very warmly by a still nonplussed Arabella clearly shocked to see the likes of me in her shop.

I headed home proudly clutching my new purchases and some extra shopping (I invariably make a supermarket trip for some cakeage or a crafty pastry and what's a trip to town without visiting the butcher for some of his quite frankly remarkable sausages made with the local beer?) where, the wind in my sails, I logged on to an online site and ordered some new Birkenstocks because the existing ones are very close to death and quite frankly should have been sent to live in the country around the time of the last World Cup.

Sadly, this flurry of activity which began the day so well dissipated somewhat after I had prepared a frankly magnificent sandwich, did some washing and of course attended to the seemingly endless washing up.  I put this sense of drift down to the Wife as she is using the dining table for her paid work, meaning that I am quite reasonably exiled to the back room, with nary a radio to tune into, the quiet sounds of Jazz FM only just audible from the kitchen.  She will be out to do yet another one of her jobs tomorrow, so Muggins is going to have to get the proverbial finger out and start to apply himself just a bit more, setting up at the table and focusing.

I did mention to My Own Heart that I am only on day three at the moment and that I am actually technically on leave so any effort I make is a bonus.  In return she listed the many jobs which need to be done around the house and fixed me with a hard stare the like of which refugee South American bears would be proud.

Suitably chastised and newly equipped with shirts a-plenty, with new shoes even now being crafted for me, day four is going to have to be a day of action.  In preparation, I had better get some serious relaxation in.

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