Thursdays mornings pass quietly at Thatchwick. I spend the first hour trying to tidy the evening’s disorder. How does a house occupied by one woman, two Labradors and two budgies go from order to chaos during the night? What elves or hobgoblins? The crisp white duvet cover is littered with the many books I delved into before turning off the lamp. My pot of hand cream is on the bedside table, towels need straightening, the kitchen counter is smeared and the birdseed scattered during a budgie breakfast and soft blue feathers plucked in early morning ablutions must be dealt with. Dog leashes must be hung up in the broom cupboard after the 4:45 am walk, coffee mug and dog bowls placed in the dishwasher and, of course, the floor ever-muddied by paw prints and shedding fur must be vacuumed if not mopped.
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