Staring at my ten twinkling toes, shoeless, sprawling on a sofa. I don't like the word 'sofa' much, 'settee' isn't really any better, 'couch' I suppose wins; but it's not much of a competition. So here I am languishing in a world of soft furnishings, home at last. 9 months and I think around 115 gigs later. I'm developing a first class head cold. The kind that makes you feel like complete shit so you call it flu in a vain attempt to get sympathy. Always the way. You finish work and the flood gates open.
I've been indulging the domestic god in me for a few days. Seems like the right thing to do after being away for so long. Repainted a couple of walls. Hung a few new pictures. Cooked lots of delicious grub. Did a lot of unnecessary tidying. Starting to get bored of it now. My wife calls it 'nesting' but I call it 'sanity'. Nice to play the guitar just for fun again. And around we go again.
