Next Tuesday sees the return of the depressed painter. (See Feb archives, Back in the Office). This time he will be painting the living room and I am preparing for the mental anguish caused by having such a depressing personality in my house for 4 days. I am stocking up on Goat's milk, he finds this less depressing in his tea, and also taking the kettle etc upstairs so I do not have to keep disturbing him by trying to get in the kitchen.
I will be glued to the computer for all 4 days and intend to be very busy transcribing my portion of the 1861 census so that he can not disturb me with his tales of woe. If he gets unbearable then I shall have to go shopping. His work remains meticulous so I have to find a way of ignoring the melancholy.
Right now I am emptying the room, carrying 400 books in ones and two upstairs and dumping them on my newly fitted bookshelves. The rightful occupants are still in the garage. I though the end of all this upheaval was in sight. Now the goal posts have moved again and the end is a dim and distant vision.
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