Another busy day and now I'm about ready to collapse into a soggy heap...a nice man brought the last of the kitchen cupboards early this morning so Himself put it all together and now it's installed...though still empty, 'cos I've been teetering about on the step ladder again painting the wall over the range and don't have the energy to begin moving stuff about...

The very worse part is yet to be done...the floor to ceiling bookshelves. I've been looking at them and wondering whether I actually have the inclination to take all those books off and murder the enormous spiders which I know full well will be lurking behind them and then paint the entire caboodle...even the long handled brush thingy I use to swipe at cobwebs doesn't reach as far as the top shelf so it's draped in grey sticky webs and I swear I see beady eyes peeping over the tops of the books...

A couple of years ago I called at the home of a local author to enquire about something or other...she lives in a vast ancient farmhouse with weeds growing in the middle of the driveway. She invited me into the hallway...lined floor to ceiling with books...Wellington boots scattered all over the floor...a coat rack stuffed with old coats and jackets...and cobwebs. Cobwebs draped over the top shelves of the bookcases...cobwebs adorning every corner...she could have sold those cobwebs to a film maker for use in a creepy film...honest to god she could...and did she appear to give a fig...she did not.

And in one way I do wish I could be like that and just not give a stuff...but on the other hand I have this sort of vision in my head of a well-ordered home with a total lack of dust and detritus...shiny floors and plumped up cushions and lavender sachets among the carefully starched and pressed linen...soft squashy sofas adorned with tasteful patchwork cushions rather than a settee so heaped with dogs I have to squeeze into the tiny space they've graciously left me and then I get up covered in dog hair...

I'd like to be able to pull a book from a shelf without wiping my dusty hands down the side of my trousers and blowing a spider away with a hot breath...I'd quite like to bath in a bath that doesn't have some small animal racing about in the bottom that I have to fish out before running the hot water...and I'd prefer not to have to give the bath towel a vigourous shake before I dry myself in case a long legged beastie is lurking in its folds...

All quiet on the family tree hunt today...I've found a few more people who emigrated to America and built churches and signed things...but no-one in particular stands out. It's odd isn't it that those who sailed across the Atlantic were so intensely religious...probably read the Bible out loud every evening type of religious...especially the Old Testament with its tales of hell fire and dammation...but those before them were patently Pagan and those who remained in England were non-commital either way. It is of course precisely why they went to America...so they would no longer feel persecuted...they could just persecute everyone they came into contact with in their new country.

I'd better go and make the potato cakes...I did remember to cook the potatoes ages ago so they'll be cold enough now. There is a new series of Whitechapel beginning tonight on television which we enjoy watching...there is one character who is decidely creepy though he's probably a very nice sort of a person in real life...just has a creepy sort of a face...