Monday nights are always a bit hectic around here.
For a start, I am generally reeling from the upset that re entry into a working week always causes. At the moment, we are not very quiet, but we are not massively busy either so it is a matter of pushing through the work as it comes and then trying not to spend too much time on the Internet in between jobs – especially now that every site seems determined to ‘improve’ itself by auto loading videos, which is deadly in a work environment where your consumption of Gbs is monitored and you are put on a naughty list if you over consume.
Monday night is bin night, because the last thing I want to do at 6 am on a Tuesday is race around collecting rubbish and wheel a stinking bin up to the kerb. Equally, Monday night is the night I vacuum, because I don’t want to spend my weekend doing that if possible. The plan is to vacuum everywhere, empty all the fur and dust into the bins, empty the fridge of any unwanted stuff too and then relax. That is the plan. The reality is that I get home and walk the dogs, then make a fundamental error like checking Twitter. This will invariably result in listening to something which I can not do and vacuum at the same time, so I do something else (last night it was making a tea brack) while I listen. Then I begin vacuuming and that always takes longer than I think it will, even though I do it very badly.
I then scoot around the house collecting all the rubbish from the other bins and finally remember to check outside along the side of the house to pick up any ‘rubbish’ the dogs may have left during the week. By now it is dark and I need a torch to see outside. Torchlight drives Archie insane. He follows it like a thing possessed. When I walk Archie, he is attached to a 24 ft lead and if it is dark I can use a torch to get him doing figure eights up and down the length of the park because he will follow the spot like an obsessive actor. Lucy, however is more clever and knows where the light is coming from, so instead of tripping me up by chasing around my feet to catch a moving disc of light, she will jump up and try and grab my hand in her mouth to get the torch off me.
I finally get the bin out and wash my hands. By this time the loaf is ready and I get that out of the oven and decide to have a shower before dinner because I want my hair to dry before I go to bed. After the shower, I grab a quick bite to eat and sit, ready to begin my blog. I look at the clock, it is nearly nine o’clock. The evening has evaporated once again. I only wish some days that time went this fast at work.
Blog posted, I gather up my phones, tablet and a book and realise, suddenly that the dogs are outside and quiet. It has begun to rain and this can only mean one thing: that they are on the hunt for that poor frog again. Sure enough as the fat raindrops start to beat steadily onto the patio I see the chubby yellow chap being stalked on two sides by my dogs.
I get the dogs in and Paterson, as I have now named the frog (it is a Banjo frog, you can google it if you don’t get the reference) hops to the relative safety of the fence. Archie sits, his face a picture of panic and desperation as his eyes plead with me to let him get out there and deal with the reptilian menace, but I stand firm. The door is locked and I tape a sign to it near the handle to warn my husband when he gets in from late shift, that Archie will make a murderous bid if allowed outside.
I get in to bed, happy that the cooler weather is going to let me get under the covers for the first time this year, ready to settle down with a book when the storm hits. It is a big storm with a lot of rain being dumped. It does not even feel as if it is passing, just sitting directly over my house raining down its wet fury on my roof.
Then as I listen to the sound of the rain, it changes, becomes more specific and louder. It sounds like it is raining in the bedroom, but of course it isn’t. That is because it is raining in my hallway. Water is falling in committed drips onto my hall carpet from around the air con vent.
I get out and mop, then place buckets strategically to catch the water and listen to the sound of my roof leaking until the storm has played out. My book has remained unread, but at least the bin is out, the floor is dry and the Paterson, for now, is safe.