The municipal water, which has been off for a week, comes on again. Hooray! Our tank was running very low indeed. We now have the matter of laundry to sort out. I am usually in charge of laundry so I begin to feel mild panic when I see that John has done one massive Man Wash.
A Man Wash, for those of you who have husbands and partners who wouldn't be able to identify a washing machine in a police line up, is a wash in which everything from woolens to towels to delicate silk scarves and even, on occasion, the dogs' blankets, are thrown in the machine with a various assortment of washing powders and laundry detergents (I won't mention the time Sunlight washing up liquid was used) and the on button pushed.
When I look out at all the washing on the line, I have to practise deep breathing and clench and unclench my fists to prevent myself having a complete breakdown.
'Oh,' I say, hoping that the ripples of passive aggression cannot be detected, 'I always thought pure wool had to be hand washed. It appears it doesn't.'
Ellie has decided that, with most of the year cancelled, it's time to bring on Christmas. It is her favourite time of the year and she usually begs to start decorating the tree in November (around the second). Today she plays Christmas carols, bakes snowmen shaped biscuits and wears her Christmas socks. She has also started decorating her bedroom.
All I can say is bring on 2021.
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