Home alone

For a (happily) short period recently The Other One was heavily occupied elsewhere for reasons not entirely unconnected with open heart surgery, and I found myself with unwonted domestic responsibilities. These turned out to be rather less onerous than I had feared, and I summarise below my approach to them:
• Bed-making. Unnecessary: it’s a duvet, so I just got out carefully in the mornings.
• Shopping. I like this anyway. I find that a bit of suggestive banter at the checkout sets me up for the day.
• Cooking. This too I like, and when I got bored with it there was always M&S.
• Dusting. Certainly not. What’s the point?
• Vacuuming. Had good intentions, but somehow didn’t seem to get round to it.
• Keeping up the supply of ice. A constant pre-occupation but not too tiring.
• Giving TLC to the cat. A doddle. She slept whenever she wasn't dribbling on my keyboard.
• Watering the seedlings in the greenhouse. Tough one, this: it meant going right to the bottom of the garden, EVERY DAY.
• Putting out the rubbish. Only once a week and no problem when it’s not raining.
• Washing up. (Doing the dishes as those other people call it.) I've always been a bit of a whiz at stacking the dishwasher. And we’ve plenty of crockery, so the rest could be done every third day, or before meals.
• Dealing with Jehovah’s Witnesses. I tried hard but didn’t succeed in converting any of them to my own beliefs.

All in all, an interesting experience, though I am glad it is over. And probably The Other One would say the same.