I don't even remember how long ago it started, but it seems like forever that a whole lot of not very much has been going on in the House at Porter Street.
And I have a headache that won't go away.
Milo has been an awfully sick little person with the wondrous trio of ear infection, pleurisy and croup. Buoyed by antibiotics he's now feeling better, but it was ghastly when he was all floppy and wan. Now he's just annoying and coughing. Who would've thought this would be preferable to his more quiet state.
Since Sunday I've been flat with the passing on Sunday of a lady for whom I have dedicated time and brainspace for the past twelve months. She was a woman of iron will, but marshmallow heart; a force to be reckoned with, despite being largely confined to her bed. She knew how to get the most out of people and always kept me on my toes. And I will miss her.
RIP Aunty Gai.
The only thing house wise that's happened is that Mum has painted the raw pine skirting board in my workspace and I've begun to think about setting it up.
But I need some cheap, light, robust uniform storage boxes for the open shelves.
Nothing of note has happened in my bedroom or anywhere else actually, except we shuffled some furniture around in the living room. It's looking good.
But in all this nothing I have discovered:
- the area of flooring is gargantuan and is enormously exhausting to vacuum, sweep and mop. Welcome to the Big House, Soph.
- the ducted heating throws up more dust than Miss Havisham's
- I need to pay more attention when David Pool takes me through the process of emptying water out of the pond - which, with all this rain, keeps overflowing into the neighbours' property. They haven't said anything, so I'm guessing the water hasn't penetrated their actual house - yet.
- Milo's bedroom, though north facing, is horribly dark - so when Chris Sparks comes to install the new lights (after the kitchen goes in at the start of May) we need to add Milo's overhead to the list of things he has to do.