Strictly disasters, domestic angst and a spot of writing

Lordy, but what a real mess Strictly Come Dancing was last night. Ridiculous nonsense. What's the ruddy point of a semi-final where everyone goes to the final?? You may as well not bother at all. The fact remains that Tom should have not gone through, as he was the weakest contestant by a mile, and it's terribly frustrating for the other two that all their perfection made not a damn sight of difference. Harrumph indeed! Lord H thinks the obvious solution would simply have been to change Lisa's and Rachel's scores to be 2 a piece instead of 3, and then everyone would have had a more equal chance and the point of the competition would have remained. As it is, they've completely cocked-up and it's left a rather nasty taste in the mouth. Double harrumph.

In the meantime, there's more domestic traumas. Still, at least we're used to them by now. This time, the emergency plumber the insurance company promised us last night didn't turn up, so we turned the water and heating off again to save the neighbour from the second water leak. The mythical plumber is allegedly turning up tonight instead, but we have yet to see him. Apparently it might be between 5 and 10pm but who can tell? We have at least managed to turn minimal cold water back on for a while so we can do the washing etc etc but it's on a very thin trickle only so washing one's hands is becoming an art form. We've also had to turn the heating back on as we have to have something that works. Sort of. To counter this, we've been keeping a very close eye on the drip-tray levels in the kitchen so we can save the neighbour from another unwelcome shower. Sigh.

And there's no sign yet of any action from the plumber who's dealing with the first set of emergencies either, ie the immersion heater leak. I hope he comes back pretty soon next week. Lord H is hopeful that the problems might be solved by Friday but I'm pre-warning Mother when I ring her later that our Christmas visit to her this coming Saturday might include a lot of extra washing and baths. As you can see, I am less confident of a December resolution to all this. Double sigh.

Anyway, at least I've managed to get back to Hallsfoot's Battle today and have clocked up another 1000 words, taking me to about 65,000. Lord knows if any of it makes any sense, but I'm just pleased that I can string a sentence together at all as the flat collapses round our ears.

There is one good thing arising from all this though - we've been forced to clear out the airing cupboard and get rid of a lot of stuff we don't need any more. You know - the bodies of the previous flat dwellers (he was a distinctly Bad Egg ...) and people who've given me bad reviews etc etc. All the usual suspects. Plus, to my eternal shame, Lord H has uncovered my secret supply of flannels. How I love flannels - a girl can never have too many, in my opinion. But my arguments do not hold any sway with the loved one, who is still reeling from the shock of being married to a woman who owns 32 face-cloths. Yes, you did read that correctly - 32. Sadly I have now had to throw away 10 of them so my stocks are sorely depleted. Perhaps I'll get some more as Christmas presents? You never know ...

Tonight, I'll watch as much of the glorious Wallander as I can, depending on the arrival of that dang plumber. And I'm trying not to think too much about the dreaded return to work tomorrow - the very thought threatens to overwhelm me, and I have enough to cope with at the moment, thank you.

This week's haikus (two for the price of one, you lucky people ...) are:

Driving north with you:
two riders on a ploughed field
open up the sky.


Across evening sky
streamers of pink-footed geese
light us the way home.

Today's nice things:

1. Getting some essential washing done in spite of it all
2. Writing Hallsfoot
3. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - drowning, not waving ...