Well yes and, er, no. Yes in the sense that I turn up at my desk six days a week, open the computer file and read balefully through what I wrote yesterday. But no in the sense that I fight a losing battle against all the trivial and non-trivial domestic Stuff that comes my way.
This morning, before I could do anything else, I had to go to a solicitor to get a certified copy of my passport. I need this because, extraordinary to relate, the Italian tax department say I’m owed a refund and as I’m no longer resident there I have to supply my delegate with various documents so they’ll hand over the dosh to him. The novel concept of someone giving me money rather than demanding it with menaces spurred me on to deal with this pronto tonto. By the way, in the course of this bit of business I learned a new Italian expression. Where we might say, ‘Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched’ the Italians say, ‘Don’t sell the bear skin before you’ve killed the bear.’
The anti-fur brigade may well be after me for repeating such a politically incorrect old saw and I suppose I should really have posted it on Sunday Growler but I’m not changing it now.
After the solicitor I also needed to go to the Post Office to send parcels and to the pharmacy to see which of Mr F’s myriad prescriptions needs renewing. But not before I called the bank. Again. I shouldn’t get cross with the bank. They’re truly trying to sort the mess created by those finagling feckers at the Gas Board. But when people promise to call you back and don’t… you know? And then as long as I was going to the Post Office I thought I might as well go to the hardware store. I needed plastic numbers to stick on our wheelie bins. After they’ve been emptied they end up half way down the street and I want to be able to identify them at a distance. Even that wasn’t simple. At first glance they seemed to be out of 3s, but no, some twerp had hidden them behind the 5s.
And then it was lunch time. Also, the bed hadn’t been made and I had an overwhelming urge to blog. So there we are. 1.30 and I’m about to start work.
I bet Henry James never had to deal with Stuff.