As of today I have a new second-least-favourite thing to do. Eight and a half hours I spent: dangling off a ladder, or contorted across the slates on the roof some fifteen feet above the stone-strewn ground. Sodding about with a paintbrush and ten litres of exterior black gloss. How much fun is that? No, don't trouble yourselves thinking about it, the answer is bugger-all.
Today we finally had a whole day where it wasn't supposed to be peeing down at some point, so the writing malarkey was given the old heave ho, in favour of personal torture scrubbing the guttering with a wire brush before painting it. Boy, the fun never ends, does it?
Still, there is one good thing to come out of the day's horrible labours: thinking about TSA. I have a dilemma you see, and thinking is what's needed. And there's little else to do while you're dangling miles above the paving slabs, chuckies and rocks. Nope, thinking is the thing. Think, think, think…
Didn't actually come up with anything, but as they say: it's the thought that counts.