In spite of the cold and showers, I feel that I should be revelling in the longer days and soft light. But as I look around the house, all I see is dirt and dust. It's astonishing how much of a hold it has on the psyche. It weighs you down. Quentin Crisp reckoned on four years before it doesn't get any worse. I suspect that the rest of my family could last that long, but I can't. I have noticed though that even when my nerve breaks and the Mr Sheen comes out, there are some places that I never quite reach.
Like John's collection of glass fishng net floats on top of the kitchen dresser - disgustingly sticky.
Or the top of the kitchen cupboard. Still haven't got round to making that panettone bread and butter pudding a la Nigella (since January).
Or the top of the bedroom cupboard, dusty old toys, possibly the source of all those moths that are appearing lately.
As for this lot on top of the shoe cupboard, all I can say is that Jake and Dinos Chapman and Anthony Gormley have a lot to answer for.
Still, at least we can sleep safe in our beds.