No more of this

Well after cleverly getting a job on The Island, there’s no more of this chilled-out relaxing in the evening over an idle sandwich for Adrian and Pippa. It’s early bedtime all round.

Life of a flat housewife

One has to support one’s partner and get up at the same time when he is going to work. Well almost the same time because there obviously isn’t much point in getting up when he takes the dog out as there is nothing for me to do.
So when he comes back I get up and helpfully butter the bread and make the odd sandwich. He does the toast and coffee, naturally, as that’s men’s work.
Then I have the rest of the day to decide when to go to Morrisons/Safeway, and when to mop out. Best to leave the mopping out as long as possible, I mean, until the afternoon because then the floors dry faster.
It’s too exhausting to think about going to Safeway straightaway, so it’s suitably mindless to wash up the breakfast pots, move the bedding off the floor, and settle down to a couple of hours messing around ie working on the computer. There we have it. A hard life, but we support our partner.

Life of a decorator/painter - at 50

Up between 6am and 6.30am. Walk dog. Try and avoid cats, especially bloody Marmalade, whose real name is Harvey. Failed miserably today and ended up on my arse.
Make and drink coffee. Only one cup as there are no toilets on the job. Cut bread and make toast, let woman do her one contribution of the morning ie buttering and making the sanis.
Decide to walk to work. Got bollocked yesterday when I took the bike across the sand that the masons had laid for some paving. Bloody tools were on the path and the day before I had fallen over them carrying the bike.