The day grows old

The day grows old. Traffic has subsided on the road outside though I can still hear the occasional car drive by. The lights are full on illuminating the front room for all to see – the curtains have been tied up to let the new paint dry on the window sill. Anne has been busy.

The printer has been fixed, paper jam removed and new printer drivers installed on my laptop. The sound card doesn’t work though since I dropped the laptop on its side and jammed the headphone jack deep in. Ah well.

Someone has ridden by on a bicycle swearing angrily at another person unseen. Oh dear.

The TV which has been showing documentaries all night is now switched off. Good.

Anne is pottering away in the kitchen. She has been out to a school fashion show. Anne is on the committee of The Friends of William Farr, otherwise known as the PTA or at least it was in my day. I have never been on such a committee, perhaps an indictment of my apathy. If they asked me for a donation I would give it.

The brightness of this room seems out of place tonight. Perhaps it is doubly bright because of the reflections off the windows. The curtains would normally be shut. Stands to reason really. For all I know someone is stood in the front garden staring in at me. Wondering.

I will be off to bed soon enough. The routine will kick in. Check the front and back doors even though I know that Anne will already have done so. Brush teeth in downstairs toilet. I find it more convenient to keep the gear there as it saves me having to nip back upstairs before heading out to work.  There will probably be a quick glance round the kitchen. Ours is a large kitchen with two kitchen tables. Very useful.

Tonight I made a point of tidying the kitchen before Anne arrived home. It isn’t fair on her to be confronted with a mess which can easily be the case with three lads in the house. It is done and she seems reasonably happy with it.

The clock ticks. A quick glance informs me it is telling the right time. Unusual! Must have a new battery. Good.

Looking around I am surrounded by books. You can never have too many books. One of the shelves also has a giant pencil which I bought as a souvenir from the pencil factory at Keswick in the Lake District. It has no practical uses and were it ever to need sharpening we would not have a suitable pencil sharpener for the purpose.

The vacuum cleaner is in the corner of the room under the desk. It is a Dyson. Strange. It is normally kept in the cupboard under the stairs. Unusual for it not to be tidied away. There must be a good explanation.

I’m off to bed now. Goodnight.

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