I Pomodoro'd my working morning.
Except I had to cheat. You are supposed to split your working time into 25-minute blocks, then take a 5-minute break, and start on another 25-minutes, and so on, until your book is written/ the house is painted/ the accounts complete/ whatever you promised yourself you would do in 2005. Voila! Finished!
The first 25 minutes flew by, and I didn't want to stop, so didn't, until I'd done my book-stitchery for an hour or so, then I went to have a 10-minute break.
Unfortunately - and I suspect, a duty not held by two men with a book to plug - I had then to make coffee for our Travelling Aunty and put the laundry on.
By the end of 15 minutes I was into the washing up from yesterday's breakfast. (Left on the hopeful happenchance that elves would come along and sort it out. No such luck.)
After the coffee-making duties, the laundry, the washing up, some more washing up, and a disinfecting of the kitchen surfaces in a pathetic attempt to clear out the rat that has taken residence in the property, nearly an hour had passed.
I bet two men (with a book to plug) organise their days while assuming these sort of jobs are done for them. I am growing increasingly resentful about that, and am using 2017 to regain my proper womanhood. Well, that's the plan, obviously. I haven't started on it yet.
But I did go for a walk, because now I am a flaneuse.
I go where I fancy, in the nature of the dérive. It is just as well my drift includes rural as well as urban, because even though I had not planned my path, my feet directly for the local field, made a straight path of it downhill and found a new bird hide.
I thought it would be a straightforward affair to come home by simply returning on the route I'd come, but I got embarrassingly lost in the damn field and had to make my way round all the fences, like a woodlouse tracks its borders, looking for the hole that leads out.
Anyway, have the illustrated record of my drift. Before the camera battery died.