I'm looking at a big bag of ironing that doesn't, strictly speaking, feel like mine. It's been waiting since the summer for this moment: it's the winter clothes eBay bag, which still contains the summer clothes which I didn't get around to selling in the appropriate season.
The problem with ironing is that you need a TV show without subtitles to iron to, so that you can look at what you're doing, or one with so much action that you can listen in and glance up occasionally. Unforchly, Columbo won't do because we aways know whodunnit at the beginning rather than the end, and rather tediously, have to watch Columbo being clever, and knowing how clever he's being, all the way through.
As I consider the available options, I've taken to the blog, site of prevarication.
I've been receiving bulletins from Martin who has in his northern corner of Scotland caught no less than three mice in the humane trap he bought yesterday. He was talking about tagging them with Tippex to see if it was the same mouse coming back from a long way away where he dropped them off.
I told him about the Blue Peter experiment with snails whose shells they marked before dropping them off in distant gardens, only to find that they had a fantastic homing instinct and turned up again in their source garden no matter how long it took.
The problem is that to catch a mouse to tag it, you've got to catch the mouse.
Yesterday I wrote a two minute song for a compilation, which I will tell you more about later on. I recorded it using my iPhone, which picked up the clock ticking, cars whooshing past the window, and of course next door's dog which was barking relentlessly as usual.
When I have asked them to take it out more, perhaps, or get someone to take it for a walk when they are not there because the constant barking and whimpering becomes overwhelming, the neighbour says 'He doesn't bark'.
It will not be long before I call the RSPCA to report them for their neglect ; I think they might then realise that their dog does, indeed, bark.