Patience...

The husband is still at home and making the most of his free time to do all those little jobs which I have been waiting for him to do.  I had three things on my list for him:

1. Replace stair carpet treads where Reg (the bastard dog) had had a fine old time at the peak of his chewing phase (Request made June 2016).  I have been waiting for him to put wooden flooring down in his office, thus releasing the carpet for the stairs.

2. Paint shower ceiling (Request made circa 2009)

3. Paint bathroom ceiling (Request made circa 2012)

As you can see, I am a very patient wife.

It's all going rather well though, and the husband has done the stair carpet and the shower ceiling, with the bathroom ceiling promised for today.

However, dealing with the detritus which seems to follow him round the house is starting to play havoc with my nerves and OCD.  It started at the drive, where an old desk and broken filing cabinet had been discarded.  Having navigated my way past these and the half washed paint tins when I got back from Binland yesterday, I looked into the hall with some trepidation.  It was still full of his stuff, but not as much as I was expecting , and I gave a small virtual fist pump, thinking that as he cleaned his office out, that he had actually thrown something (anything would do) away.  

I then went into the downstairs bedroom to switch the lights off (I pay the electricity bill and the husband is very lackadaisical about lights, sometimes leaving the house looking like Battersea Power Station, while I trot behind him switching this and that off).  Mind you, I say 'went into' the bedroom, but 'hovered at the threshold' would have been more accurate.  The bed had disappeared underneath copious amounts of lever arch files and chargers and cables snaked their way across the carpet.  Backing out, I gently asked whether all of that stuff was going back into his office.  'Most of it', was the muffled reply from beneath his new desk (he was painting the skirting boards), which has put the fear of God into me.

But we're getting there, and by the end of today, my house should be free of dustsheets, stepladders, rollers and the husband.

I decided to take the dogs out for a long walk with the Mother yesterday, mainly for the purpose of getting out of the house.  When I got to her house, she was doing exactly the same, as she had a man in sanding her banisters (this sounds far more intriguing than it is unfortunately).  Getting back after a very long woofer walk, her other half made us a cup of tea and offered us both a chocolate eclair.

Believe it or not, I bloody declined.

Because therein lies the return road to Chubby Town, ladies....