Pithering

I've slunk around the place today, utterly without energy but happy to see the bright sheen on the greenery outside that signals a glorious day. Indoors the sun shows up the dust, the grubby corners that I hadn't noticed before and, worst of all the windows. When the last job is completed inside and out I'm going to treat myself to the mother of all window cleaning sessions, with windowsills thrown in. I've got my man earmarked already. In the meantime my eyes tend to look straight through the murky glass to the views beyond, the shining beech leaves across the lane catching my eye frequently as they flicker up and down in a vague breeze. I collected a posy of flowers for my weekend guest's bedroom, and put them in the loo brush holder which is now my spare vase. You'd never know ...

This morning the cheerful postwoman brought me a second penalty charge, this time for driving down a bus lane during my recent trip to Town. There is a photograph of my car in the offending lane, snapped by a vigilant camera. On Monday I had a similar notice for entering a Congestion Charge area without a ticket. Who knew? Couldn't they let first time offenders off with a warning, guessing that they were just innocents abroad? I don't remember seeing that I'd entered a Congestion Area, and would certainly have bought a ticket if I had. Two lots of £65 fines. Think of the meal I could have eaten for that! Nothing to do but grit my teeth and cough up. I hope that's the last of it. It's a long journey from Streatham to the edges of Essex, plenty of scope for elephant traps.

Despite the highlighting of fluff balls under the kitchen table and streaks on mirrors, the light in the house is wonderful. At any time of the day there is a spot where I can sit in the sun and, like a cat, I follow it around.