Term started yesterday. I guess that now makes me officially retired. It feels surreal.

I’m not short of things to do. There’s a whole bungalow to decorate, for a start. We’ve been here for over a year now – people will start to think we actually like the brown and yellow kitchen tiles and the polystyrene ceiling. There are still swathes of the garden to reclaim for civilisation and an allotment with a plenitude of guilt-inducing weeds.

I’m supposed to have read a book-club book which I’ve not yet bought. There are instruments in need of a good practice. A short story which needs finishing before I can sell it and buy buns for tea.

Furthermore, I’ve promised ActorLaddie to make him a website to drum up trade for his London City Walks.  Actually, he is, at the moment, in the middle of recording a couple of audio-books so, for the first time in our marriage, he’s at work and I’m at home. It dawned on me part way through yesterday afternoon that this means it probably should be me that tackles the ironing. I’ve even ordered a new ironing board cover, having spent at least ten minutes reading the reviews. (Why would anyone spend any of their life reviewing an ironing board cover?)

Plenty to keep me out of mischief, then. But all that space; all that choice!  I am paralysed by the possibilities.  I need a timetable; could someone please give me a timetable? And then tell me, if I’m not a teacher any more, who am I and what am I for?  And when do I expect the inspectors?

Mind you, the new ironing board cover has earned Cure Parkinson’s another 14p through the GiveAsYouLive scheme. The link to GiveAsYouLive is here.

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Another great blog from Aquarius331 which makes me immediately want to decamp to the South of France. Catch it here.