This housework lark is getting out of hand.  I cleaned the kitchen this morning.  Yes, again.  I mean, I clean the work surfaces and so on of course, all the time and I’m really very hygienic in matters that matter, but dusting all those beams and so on is a total pill.  I also have taken on one of the Sage’s jobs – not that he has noticed yet I suppose, or if he has he is keeping quiet.

In the far-off days when darling Kenny gardened for us, he always emptied the bins.  He came in for morning coffee and afterwards peered in the bins and if there was enough in them to empty, he did so.
Now, I always maintain that emptying the kitchen bins is a man’s job.  The Sage does virtually no housework except sometimes unpacking the dishwasher, so I think it’s reasonable.  And he does, eventually.

When we enlarged the kitchen garden and built the wall round it, we moved the compost heap.  It was meant to be temporary, but temporary isn’t short-term at the Zedery (there is no correct spelling, spell it however you like) and it’s been there for several years.  And the Sage had to take the vegetable peelings to the compost heap because it was in an overgrown area and I couldn’t fight my puny way through the nettles (well, I’m bare-legged in the summer and lazy in the winter, which is quite enough reason).  However, I finally set up the new compost heap a few weeks ago back in the kitchen garden.  I scythed the grass (obv, I hadn’t dug that area), soaked newspapers and put them on top and put some half-rotted compost from the old heap and a load of grass clippings on top of that.  Such is my casual manner, yet it gets things done one way and another.  Since then, I have found myself emptying the compost bin … well no, that’s not fair to the Sage, I said I’d take my turn and it so happens that it’s been my turn each time, but he’d do it if I asked him, very willingly.

What wasn’t part of the deal was emptying the two other bins.  So why do I do it?  Dammit, my standards have risen.  Bloody housepride.

I have good news for the Sage by the way, and many thanks to Blue Witch for making it known, that from November 18th (random date as that is) classic cars – pre-1960 – will no longer have to have an MoT certificate.  The garage he takes his old Rover to for its test is about 10 miles away and the car needs to rest a bit on the return journey.  It goes jolly well when it’s running mind you, almost reaches 30 mph going downhill.  But then the fuel fizzles out and it stops for a bit.