Here is an illustration which sums up my weekend. We had a mountain of dirty laundry — a huge stinky mountain that threatened our physical beings any time we went near it for fear it may topple and smother us (what a way to go!). So Saturday was the day to get it done. I want to confess that even though I have what could loosely be categorised as a crafty/domestic-life blog and Martha Stewart does get a bit of air time here, and I do put up the occasional recipe or talk about cushions and quilts… I really, really dislike housework. I would much rather be reading blogs about other people avoiding housework by having interesting lives, so it only gets done under great sufferance. Things were getting pretty desperate by the weekend. Clothing items were coming out of my wardrobe which haven’t seen the light of day since 2001. I tried to kid myself that I was looking kind of cool and retro… hm. The washing machine ran for a solid eight hours on Saturday. Because our backyard is still a work in progress, we only have a tiny little line so most of the washing went straight into our evil, energy sapping dryer. It’s an old dryer which we inherited from Paul and Lara some time ago, and I think it may have seen better days. I shouted so many bad words at that dryer over the weekend. I kept appearing from the laundry red faced with a new tale of dryer-terror. Torn shirts, twisted towels – still wet after ninety minutes. Etc. Anyway, that was my weekend. Laundry and anger.