Dashing away with the smoothing iron.........

You remember, a couple of weeks ago, I wrote a highly thrilling post about doing the ironing? Of course you do. How could anyone forget. If I'm wrong and you have something else to do with your time than remember this sort of thing (and in this case, what are you doing here on a Friday evening, huh?), I mentioned that I was left with the 66ish dinner napkins that I couldn't face. Someone pointed out in the comments that I must be a pretty messy eater, and she was right.

Anyway, I've tackled them. The number had risen to 85 (and how sad is that, that I counted) but they are done and, since there is no danger that the menfolk will use any during the next week, I will have only one or two waiting for me when I return from my hols. All my pretty babies ....... in one fell swoop, as Shakespeare nearly said in much less fortunate circumstances, dramatically speaking (Macbeth? Um...... I think so. Macduff? ....... er, could be).

I ironed for the best part of two hours last night, in front of an Audrey Hepburn DVD. And tonight, I type next to Taggart. Which has never, of course, been the same since the eponymous Mark McManus shuffled off, nor since they reduced the title music to an abbreviated nothing - could anyone resist joining in with 'this town is so MEAN?'
Which will mean nothing to most of you.

Have you noticed? I'm winding down. I'm in holiday mood.

I had my actual, in a hotel, went by aeroplane, paid for, holiday way back at the end of March, when I went to Venice, but on Sunday I am going to visit my lovely sister, who lives in Wiltshire, about half an hour past Stonehenge*. Just for a few days, but lots of visits to friends are planned. She is house+dog-sitting for a friend, so I doubt I will have an internet connection, so unless I use her library card or a café, I will not post. Sorry. Also apologies that I will put on that irritating typing in letters, but otherwise any comments (and if there are no comments, how will I be made happy on my return?) would have to wait, which would be quite frightful.

My husband just came in the room and ate all my raspberries! Well!**

*a clue for my stalker(s)
**I went and decanted another punnet of raspberries. My son is a greengrocer, remember? Pfft.