Clean the bathroom.
I can't wait until I have enough money to rip the bath out and have a walk in shower.
Without a door.
Without a step.
It's very uncomfortable to trip up the step and shove a toothbrush half-way up one's nose.
Which I did last night.
Which brought me nose and toothbrush close enough to the tiles to notice the flourishing ecosystem taking over the grout.
See when you get old, your eyes go and you skip over things that don't actually beat you over the head and say clean me.
Remind my mother that I had a husband for thirty years.
Goddess knows I'd like to forget.
But his name and his face?
She couldn't place him and I could almost hear the bell ring when the brain connected.
Feed the freeloading feathered stomachs that peer in my kitchen window.
They peer menacingly.
Alfred Hitchcock has a lot to answer for.
Just wait until I have enough money to brick in the back yard.
Little bastards will break their beaks picking up seed.