I opened the curtains this morning and smiled as I saw the rain soaked terrace and muddy deep brown soil. Rain on a June weekend is not usually a good thing. However, given my plan for this morning was to weed the flower beds and generally attempt to bring order to the chaos otherwise known as my back garden, rain disrupting my good intentions is definitely a great thing.
The temptation is to utilise this reprieve from battling the wilderness that lurks outside my door, to sit at my desk and write. My vacuum cleaner however has other ideas, and thinks that I should be cleaning the room I nostalgically refer to as the dinning room, even though no dinning has taken place in there since Christmas on account of the boxes and other clutter left over from the kitchen refit.
Whilst the pen may be mightier than the sword, it turns out it's no match for my vacuum cleaner. Which has perfected the art of the guilt trip to get me to do something I don't want to do, just by sitting there. I just hope it doesn't start giving lessons to the lawn mower.