Mondays do seem to come around with a wearisome regularity. I'm not a great fan of Mondays in general. In my book we should cut straight to Wednesday, from which the weekend is but a hop, skip and a jump.
Mondays seem to run to a different timescale than other days of the week. Much slower and draggier. Especially if it's raining.
Which it is.
I don't really understand why I have it in for Mondays. When you're self-employed, the days of the week are all pretty much the same. And given that I tend to work for at least some of each weekend it's not as if Saturdays and Sundays are luxuriously lazy.
I didn't quite manage my weekend off. After the paperwork debacle on Saturday, I started off yesterday well enough with some long overdue 'Sandra Time'. However, around lunchtime, the sun was shining and PP decided that now was the time to attend to a blocked gutter outside the kitchen.
This entailed PP up a ladder with a trowel, while I was tasked with simultaneously holding the ladder and trying to balance a bucket precariously above my head while she tipped dollops of evil-smelling gloop into it.
Needless to say, not all of the evil-smelling gloop ended up in the bucket.
After most of the gloop had been shovelled out, we then tried to shoosh water along the gutter from the hosepipe. Admittedly, this did have the advantage of washing most of the evil-smelling gloop out of my hair but did little to unblock the downpipe, which was jam-packed with decaying leaves, seagull feathers, moss, dirt and general detritus. So we dismantled the downpipe junction thingy and I went up the garden with a stick to poke all the muck out of it.
Thereafter PP spent nearly half an hour trying to wedge it back in place without pulling the entire gutter away from the soffit.
Lovely way to spend a Sunday.
Thereafter, with the sun still shining, we took Small Dog down onto the seafront for a stroll. While she was picking up her wee-mails, I idly browsed a poster on the railings. Apparently the zombie apocalypse is coming to Hastings.
Quite why this surprised me I have no idea. Hastings is as likely as place as anywhere else to have hordes of brain-devouring zombies staggering around. Perhaps even more so.
Further perusal revealed that it is a game, a bit like laser quest, played in one of the parks in the town. You dress up in army fatigues and get put in a sort of scary maze with a laser gun. Then actors dressed as zombies are let loose to stalk and hunt you down. From the pictures on the poster they're unnervingly realistic. You have to score a hit to their head with your laser gun in order to kill them.
Quite why anyone would pay good money to have the bejeesus scared out of them in this manner is beyond me, but each to their own I suppose.
In other news, things have gone eerily quiet on the house-moving front. I feel like I'm on the Marie Celeste, beached in the middle of an endless desert, with tumbleweed rolling across the deck.
We have to go into town later so we're going to pop into our estate agent to find out why the hiatus and give them a bit of a poke. Let alone anything else I'm spending an inordinate amount of my time trying to keep the house spotlessly clean and tidy, which doesn't rank high on the 'list of things I really love to do' at the best of times.
Ho hum...... better go and get on then I suppose.