Dear Powells,
I am writing this from inside a washing machine where I have been on an endless 1200 spin cycle since Monday. A swirling mass of tasks, phone calls, emails, accountant meetings, errands, solicitor documents and the occasional toilet break all bunched up together, with me at the centre, feeling discombobulated and wearing only one sock.
The week started positively; the Conveyancing Gods seemed to be in a good mood, and I even did some actual illustrating on a cover! A relief, as recently I had concluded that my job had changed from Illustrator to Professional Email-er and I was thinking of having some new business cards printed.
On Wednesday I was overcome by a sudden urge to clean. When this happens – roughly every 3 months – there is no hope. Everything must be abandoned, and the urge must be acted upon. It is lucky that I am not a surgeon; if the urge came over me mid-op my patients would be left on the operating table, whilst I swapped surgical gloves for rubber ones and bounded home to shove a toothbrush up my U-bend. And so it was that at 11.30am, despite having a to-do list as long as the Mississippi, I found myself doing a very good impression of Mrs Overall and embarking on a deep clean made all the more exciting because two days prior we had taken delivery of this:
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