Caring

A smell.  (My nose is as finely-tuned as my ears are not.) 

A melting fuse.

One thing led to another, and we’re getting the whole old house rewired this week.  I’ve rearranged my part-time morning and taken my part-time day off. And I’m not going through to Edinburgh.  With everything packed up in boxes during the upheaval, and ourselves displaced, I simply can’t get on.  I hesitate even to tackle emails, in case I forget where I got to in the different aspects of my work. I can’t simultaneously get my head around the intricacies of research, which explains why I’m not blogging as much as usual.

It appears that the ‘semi’ part of my retirement is to be dedicated to caring for the old house.  (Elderly houses have their own unique requirements and challenges,  different to older humans. At least Himself doesn’t have dodgy ceilings and won’t need redecoration.) 

In semi-retirement, it falls to me both to coordinate things – and sometimes repeat things.  (I’m the only one with hearing aids. Although this is disputed, I find they work fine, as evidenced by the fact that I get to repeat what the electrician said!) And, particularly but not entirely, because a rewire is stressful for all concerned, I find myself on the receiving end of quite a few adverse comments. (I’m apparently frequently very annoying.)

I’ll be glad when this week is over.  My kind and unfailingly courteous historical publishers await me!