THE rain persists, but I am ignoring it and starting my spring clean early.
Not a spring clean in the traditional sense, washing coal dust out of curtains and polishing the brasses, but a good old life revamp.
In my experience, niggly little problems tend to breed like rabbits, and before you know it, the car tax is due, all your socks have holes in them and the freezer needs defrosting.
First up, my bad back, which I have christened The Hump.
So I booked in to see Peter, the back-cracker of Fulwell, as I like to call him, as a limp in the right direction.
This involved a lot of lifting my arms up, funny stretching and the occassional yelp as he discovered the sore spots.
Best of all was the reflex test, the one where they hit you on a spot on your knee and your foot kicks out involuntarily.
To my shame, even though I pay taxes and vote, this is still award-winning comedy entertainment for me.
Anyway, after I’d been poked, prodded and assessed, I learned that I stick my head too far forward and my right hip has gone on holiday to a spot one inch from where it should be.
While slightly sad about being crocked at the tender age of 28, I also feel quite virtuous that I’m doing something about it.
Since my last appointment I’ve adjusted my computer screen, chair, car seat etc: all while walking around like I’m in a body cast, maintaining a Victorian-era posture which makes me look like I’ve got a stick up my bottom.
Next on the list was tackling my hair, which has been a wig of lunacy for ages because of a post-Christmas lack of money.
So on the same day I went to see Peter, I also visited Sarah, maven of beautiful locks.
I have a long and chequered history with hairdressers that has left me with a deep mistrust of humanity, and a tendency to wake up crying in the middle of the night.
But Sarah is, thankfully, different.
For one, she has nice hair herself – always a promising sign. For another, she seems to have a genuine wish to help others achieve the same thing. So when you ask for highlights and a trim, that’s exactly what you get.
Third strike was a spruce up at Goulding Towers.
One massive carpet cleaning enterprise later, complete with a long conversation about optimal stain removal, and I really felt I was getting somewhere.
The Hump is in decline, the hair is on the mend and my floors don’t look like they belong in a brothel anymore.
By the time summer comes I’ll be laughing.
WE had a night to remember on Saturday, thanks to a brilliant impromptu birthday party.
My boyfriend’s good friend, Martin, celebrated another candle on the cake with a get-together for family and friends.
The house was full of lovely people, delicious food, tasty wine and small children running around and having a great time.
The family photo albums came out, a game of charades got going at some point past midnight, and we left in the wee hours with painful faces from laughing all night.
Happy birthday Martin – please have another party next year!