Neither of the above are conducive to writing. So I sit in my office staring out of the window, listening to the sounds of whistling, out of tune singing, hammering, sawing and the heavy tread of feet up and down the stairs. My supply of coffee and tea and sugar have reached famine proportions, the cats are threatening to leave home, and the house is in a tip. In fact it looks as if a bomb has exploded, and it will be months before the dust is cleared!
None of this is helped by the fact him indoors has managed to lose my car keys. He tells me they must be in a pocket somewhere, but as the spare bedroom looks like an explosion in a clothes factory at the moment, this isn't much help. Mind you, he really knows how to blot his copybook properly - he's down in Cornwall, the keys are lost, and he'd left the boot of the car up for over five days! There's a light in the boot - well, there was - and there was juice in the battery too - now there is neither. I'm stuck here in the middle of the countryside, and all I've got in the cupboard is a packet of Jaffa cakes. Actually, life isn't all bad if you have a packet of Jaffa cakes, at least I'll get a chocolate fix. I just wish..... Oh well. He'll be back tomorrow - then he'll discover just how deeply he's in trouble.