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The nicest day of the year so far. Official. I woke at nine and the sun was streaming in through the window. Unfortunately not the bedroom window as it’s on the wrong side of the flat, but there’s not much I can do about that.

Anyhow, I got up so I could open the lounge curtains and let it in, then got on with the jobs of the day. I thought I’d give myself a reason to feel righteous and did all the jobs that have needed doing for the last couple of weeks. I now have the cleanest, tidiest, smartest flat in the whole of Essex, I reckon, and the bathroom positively sparkles.

My white surfaces are blinding.

Gordon sent back a text message to say the trick Chris and I played yesterday, SMSing to say the computer had broken down and I was having to present the show all on my own with no guests, was very naughty. Said he was having a good time, though, which is nice. I’m more than just a little envious.

Still, I bet my white surfaces are brighter…

To B&Q for kitchen paint with Paul (walked - just T-shirt and no coat), then to Sainsbury’s to stock up the fridge, completely forgetting that I’ll be living at mum’s next week to look after Jess. My shelves are now positively creaking under the weight of fresh veg, which I’m going to have to cart across town for the next week.

At seven I went to Paul’s to see how he was getting on with the painting, and took a chocolate fudge cake with me. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find the lid was not off the first can, but the wood was sanded down and, in spite of the fading light, things were just about to get started. Fortunately I was wearing old clothes, to I took a brush and the yellow paint and started on a wall while Paul tackled the ceiling.

I wouldn’t say it was exactly surprising, but the time did go quite quickly and before we knew it, it was ten. The magnolia walls had transformed themselves to off-yellow, and the ceiling was a patchy white. Neither of us could see very easily what we were doing in the artificial light, so knocked off for the night. Paul put a pie in the oven while I went upstairs for the hottest shower I could stand to ward off aching joints.

By then, it was too late to really get into anything on TV. There was a repeat (of a repeat of a repeat of a repeat) of Carrott’s Commercial Breakdown which was OK is you conentrated on the ads and tried to block out his links, and the second half of a repeat (of a repeat of a repeat of a repeat) of The Vicar of Dibley, but all the while the duvet and my book were becoming more and more appealing.

This entry was posted on Friday, March 29th, 2002 at 6:22 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.