DrH and I have taken the last few days of freedom from work and family christmas events to get our flat into a bit more order. Finally we have curtains in the bedroom, which has the nice side effect that we don't have to drop the heavy wooden shutters every night, but the somewhat annoying side effect that without them DAYLIGHT actually comes in. Like, at 11am when you're trying to get a bit more shut-eye.
I now also have some brand-spanking new venetian blinds in the study, which makes it that much more difficult for every passerby to observe my daily activity, but also means that I'm rapidly turning into someone who'll twitch at curtains while trying to work out what's happening with the neighbours, rather than just staring outright which is what I always used to do.
I think I just aged forty years overnight.
Right now both of us are going through our desks and the piles of paper, sorting, stapling, hole-punching, filing. We're not actually THROWING anything, oh no not us. We're hoarders from hell and should we ever be audited by the tax office I think DrH's manic collection, labelling and filing of every receipt, bill, bank statement - any piece of official documentation ever received from any institution, actually - will send even the most anal of tax collectors into information overload.
But it seems we aren't the only ones taking the beginning of a new year as a chance to get organised. John Scalzi's office has received a going over from his wife, who he described as being made of awesome.
"Hey look!" I called to DrH. "he said his wife is made of awesome." DrH looked at me blankly, but I think that was because I interrupted his enjoyment of rereading a four month old bank statement. "Like, awesomeness in flesh."
"You think I'm awesome?"
"No," I replied patiently, "you should be saying stuff like that about me."
"That you think your wife is made of awesome?" Sometimes it can take a while for DrH to work out nuances of English.
"NO! You should be saying that YOUR wife is made of awesome. That I'm, like, awesome personified."
"Oh. You cute one," he said deadpanned as he turned back to the next VISA bill to be filed. Yeah, I think that attempt to improve the local recognition of my impressive level of awesomeness failed entirely.