It dawned on me today, as I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing eyeliner marks out of the smallest bedroom carpet, that my life has developed strong parallels with that of Lady Macbeth.
I too have double double, toil and trouble.
So this is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
Quite how the daughter managed to get so much eyeliner ground into the (beige) carpet is a mystery, as is the method for removing it.
Having tried various cleaning solutions I sat back on my heels and wailed....
"Out, damned spots!"
Later, trying to rationalise a room full of PP's daughter's 'stuff' (which is hopefully being collected tomorrow) I could be heard to mutter.....
"Who would have thought the house to have so much stuff in it"
OK, so I'm paraphrasing but you get the idea.
I think we're at the stage where things can't get any worse and can only get better. In one fell swoop, we've managed to make an unholy mess in every single one of the four bedrooms.
It is a sorry sight.
All of the stuff which has to go is in large, unruly piles in various rooms. In addition to PP's daughter's stuff being collected tomorrow, (fingers firmly crossed) we've also organised a charity shop collection for early next week, comprising books, electrical gubbins, computer desk and chair, bed headboard, bric-a-brac, soft toys and assorted other stuff.
I've got to the stage where I'm so fed up with it all I'm being completely ruthless. No more dithering about should we keep it in case we need it even though it's lain undisturbed under the bed for 8 years. I've become a raging harpy, determined to de-clutter if it kills me.
Which is a distinct possibility if I carry on like this. The milk of human kindness has well and truly curdled.
I need a drink and a lie down, not necessarily, but preferably, in that order.