Hours later - tidying? or playing? Hard to say. There was something so pleasing about just how full this hoover bag was.
And after. Ahh, that's better! All it takes is a bit of elbow grease!
7am this morning I got up and felt kind of sick. Did I really want a 100 mile round trip in a car to run 4 or so miles to retain my position of c. 14th FV in the cross-country? Or would I cry out of it, go a gentle run if I felt better and maybe do a little "decluttering".
Yep, it was what our American Cousins would call a no-brainer. Plus, if I didn't go, there'd be space in the car for Gavin Brown, which would be good for him, good for the environment, so really for the highest good all round.
I didn't get out running until after 11am. Nothing about the grey skies, the cold and the wet pavements made me want to be out there. I dressed up warmly and had a cup of cocoa before leaving the house. It was fine to be out after a while but my deep reluctance every time I headed up a hill confirmed that I would have been lack-lustre on the country today. Still, it's the Carnethy 5 sooner than I'd like and I'm trying to put more hills in these legs, so I headed up the crags, and then up to the top of the seat and then down and around Calton Hill. Home and it was time to address part 2 of my plan...after some lunch.
The thing is I've got an unusual condition. It's close to being a disability. What it is is that I don't see mess. I think it's because my dad had this thing about altering things. The house we grew up in was constantly in a state of transition...missing floorboards...wires coming out the wall...no cupboards under the kitchen sink...a bath on stilts...trenches in the garden...I think in his mind there was some kind of end-product. The part of my brain that registers mess either never developed or stopped working. Actually it's probably genetic because my uncle did that thing where you fill your house completely up with stuff so that you can't walk about in it. That was long before it was fashionable and you got a lovely Greek therapist and two brassy but basically kind-hearted cleaning ladies to cajole you into letting go of your pre-war tins of corned beef.
I don't know what Peter's excuse is. He didn't grow up in chaos. His mum has been known to utter these words..."A house doesn't really sparkle unless you clean it properly once a week." She's a nice lady, but really. Houses aren't supposed to sparkle! That's just silly.
At work, the other day, my nursing colleague Karen pointed out that while everyone else's desk was reasonably tidy, mine was spread with notes, books and papers for about 4 feet either side of me. Hmmm. True. And when I got home, whilst flipping about on facebook, I saw that Stuart Hay lived in a state of cleanliness and elegance....sigh. Time for a tidy up.
So I have been tidying ever since. Judging by Peter's face when he came in from the cross-country, I've had the better day by far. Maybe, just maybe tomorrow I will clean my filthy, filthy bike.