My trouble
is that I’m interested in just too many things. Why can’t I be more boring like ordinary people and only have one or two interests? Then there wouldn’t be half the stuff around this place that there is.
For example, take my dining table. To my left, I have three completed little sweaters, a pair of trousers half knit, several balls of wool, and my knitting bag which is threatening to spill its contents over the floor. Behind that is my patchwork workbox, sat next to several stacks of romantic fiction that I’m ploughing my way through for market research purposes. There’s a box of xmas cards on top of an Ikea catalogue and an iron in the far corner. Under my right elbow, as I type, is the lastest offering from Garden Organic, along with their Heritage Seed library catalogue which has totally distracted me from whatever it was that I was intending to do upon my return from fetching Piglet from preschool. And some empty mugs, a Suma catalogue I need to decide what I want from, a cordless phone, a mobile phone, the cooling rack from the gingerbread teddies I did last night…
That doesn’t even begin to cover what’s on the book shelf opposite, including shedding carnations, a day-light lamp for patchwork, some cookbooks, a gardening book, a smallholding book, three novels of various genres, a box of fat quarters, a tool box of regular tools, the Discovery club magazine folder, Myf’s missing PE kit, an ostrich feather duster and a small my little pony.
Now I’m back in the heritage seed catalogue and Piglet is demanding snacks. Question is, do I haul myself up and creak my way over to the fridge, or tell her to help herself and get the camera ready for the results?
