Coming back to the surface

Whitstable in the mist

It's been a while, I know. Did you miss me? Probably not. I know how busy  you all are. Anyway, I'm back and if not normal service then at least some service has been resumed.
Actually, I haven't really been anywhere, apart from a couple of days in Canterbury at the end of October for a bit of a birthday break. I've just been really busy trying to earn a living. I've picked up a couple of interesting jobs, one editing copy and the other teaching a private yoga class. All good stuff, but it's taking me a while to adjust my schedule to fit everything in and still keep an eye on home life. There have been a couple of days when the fridge has been empty because I forgot to check if we needed supplies.

Added to this, the builders, who were just getting going when I last posted, are still here, although the end is in sight. Tarick and Lewis (for it is they) have been brilliant, but they've been here. It's hard to concentrate on anything when there is a young man outside my home-office window throwing gravel at the walls.

We've had a skip outside the house for three weeks now, due to an administrative misunderstanding (it should have gone back last week: don't ask!). Needless to say, some random items have appeared in it that have nothing to do with us. The latest additions are a door and a toilet. If someone had knocked on the door and asked if they could avail themselves of the skip - which we hired at no small expense, I might add - I would have said yes, except to cardboard. There's no excuse for dumping cardboard, because the council collect it. To sneak stuff in under the cover of darkness, though: well, I ask you!

On the other hand, I was standing looking dolefully out of the window when the scrap metal man drove past, did a double take and reversed back to our skip. Through hand signals we agreed he could have a rummage, and he managed to retrieve a double buggy, an iron, something computerish and a box of goodness-knows-what that looked heavy and seemed to delight him - none of which had been donated by us.

We came home from Canterbury via Whitstable, which I'd never been to before, and as you can see from the photo it was very misty-murky - all very Dickens. A promising prompt for a short story, perhaps?