So, I have kind of a busy weekend ahead of me. A date tonight. Drinks with friends tomorrow. A visitor to take round some tourist things on Sunday.
I guess this doesn't sound busy, but when you factor in the late nights and big sleeps that I'm also planning, the time becomes short and precious. Very short and very precious. This is where one of the best parts of my job comes in very handy.
The thing is, I only work four and half days a week - I finish at 12h30 every Friday and have the afternoon all to myself. Luxury. Real luxury.
Admittedly, I use my Friday afternoons to do the boring, dull, painful stuff - like cleaning, washing, ironing, changing beds, mopping floors. It's kind of dull, but it does mean that I get a proper 'weekend' on Saturday and Sunday. Perfect.
This week, however, is a bit harder than usual. Because I've been so madly, chaotically busy over the last few weeks, I've built up a backlog of everything. I'm at the bottom of the pile of clean clothes, of clean bedding and clean towels. The house looks like I've been burgled and ransacked. Truly, it looks like Viking raiders have been through, raping and pillaging as they go.
All this means that this afternoon I have my work cut out for me.
So, I'll be home in an hour's time. I'll find some good music, get a load of washing started, pour myself a nice cold gin and tonic and start cleaning. There's nothing like Bombay Sapphire to get you in the mood for a little dusting and hoovering.
Anyway, I have to finish by six. I need to make myself look beautiful for my date.
But I guess that if the house is clean, I won't be too embarrassed if we end up back at mine later.
If ever there was a motivation to get the house clean, the thought of a handsome young man seeing the dust on my headboard has to be it, surely?