This is going to be the dullest of diary entries.
Worse, even, than yesterday’s description of the housework.
You see, I neglected to explain in yesterday’s ramblings, that the reason that I wanted to get all of the domestic chores properly out of the way and off my conscience, was because today I had got a major nuisance requiring my attention.
Today I had to complete my paperwork for the last financial year.
That statement makes it sound as though I had already started doing things to my paperwork for the last financial year, which of course I hadn’t. My paperwork for the last financial year consisted of a disorderly pile of receipts, some mysterious cheque stubs, and an overdraft.
I have not been anticipating this with any kind of joyful longing, but April has now been and gone, and I know that if I put it off any longer I will get mixed up about which year is which.
When I got up I did not instantly leap behind my desk. I rounded up the dogs and we ran up the fell, albeit slowly. It is a mark of my interest in paperwork that I actually preferred to drag my aching legs up steep hills at a painful jog, rather than examining our year’s worth of financial indiscretions and general adventures.
The wonderful sunshine has moved elsewhere, presumably to a part of the country where they have paid their council tax, but it was not raining, and we huffed and puffed up to the summit rather sweatily.
I had to have a shower when I got back.
I put my slippers on to do the paperwork. Yesterday I had put my flip-flops on to write on these pages, and casually kicked them off under the desk as I wrote. When I came to put them back on again I discovered that Roger Poopy had accidentally eaten them, to both of our surprise. I was very cross with him about this, because flip flops are useful for keeping by the back door and slipping on when I need to empty the hoover or peg out the washing. He was very sorry, but I still had to order some more on Amazon this morning, which I did, by way of procrastination.
Once I had written all the letters that I could possibly creatively imagine that I ought to write, and written a list of handy reminders in my diary, and gone downstairs to make a cup of tea, and pegged the washing on the line, then I had no more excuses.
I downloaded the bank statements and started to work out what we had earned and what we had spent.
You will not be surprised to learn that the latter was a bit more than the former.
I did not mind this very much, because one day the children will leave school, and then we will pay off all of our debts in one glorious instant, and live in unimaginable luxury for ever afterwards. As it was, there was nothing unexpectedly horrifying to be discovered, and I got through the entire day without even a hint of the dreadful sick churning feeling that often accompanies economic contemplation when you are poor.
In short, although it has not been one of our more successful years, I did not feel a sense of overwhelming gloom when it was all done, which it was, to my surprise, by the time Mark came home. Our accounts have become an awful lot simpler now that we don’t have to worry about people’s wages and VAT.
I emailed it all across to the accountant with a huge feeling of relief. It is wonderful to have a clear conscience.
The picture is the garden this morning. I took it when I had been for my run. It was yet another Delaying Tactic.
