I was having such an incredible dream. It was the start of a long haul flight, I’ve no idea where I was going, but my excitement was as effervescent as the fizz I was sipping. I tipped my head back, savouring the moment. Waiting for someone to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, when the deep-throated moan of a hungry Burmese cat, demanding to be fed, blasted my eardrum.

‘Just let me sleep!’ Okay, not quite all the words I used, but this is a family show.

I want to go back to sleep, but I am ignored as the moaning continues, and there are so many chores to be done, as well as mouths to feed. Then I realise it’s only six o’clock and it’s Easter Monday. I should be allowed a lie-in today of all days, surely? But the cat doesn’t agree, so I get up.

I can’t believe my life has come to this. An endless round of cooking, cleaning, house maintenance and gardening. We just need a skip now, so I can clear out the attic. There’s stuff up there that goes back over half my lifetime.  Why am I such a hoarder? I’ve been meaning to declutter for years, but can’t get motivated.

I’ve lost count of the days now, as I struggle to understand quite why my life has ended up like this. Once upon a time, I wrote when I woke up. Flicked a duster around and hoovered, before taking Cassie the Blog Dog for a walk. After a spot of lunch, it would be back to writing in the afternoon before rushing around like a headless chicken wondering what to feed everybody as they started coming home in drips and drabs.

I thought being in Lockdown would mean spending hours writing. Sitting in the garden finishing the final chapters of novel number two, followed by the not so enjoyable, but inescapable weeks of editing.  Not so. 

My life is now a non-stop round of:

Cooking – gone are the days of ‘I’m just popping out to the supermarket, darling!’ Going supermarket shopping has become a significant expedition 

Cleaning – I obviously never did much

Gardening – oh, my calloused hands

Household maintenance – fixing, painting and grouting

These hands were made for creative writing, not pruning and power-washing. I’m exhausted and would like to go back to sleep, but I’ve missed my slot, thanks to the demands of a hungry feline whose ancestors originated in Myanmar.

I must mow the lawn today. I should have done it yesterday, but as it was Easter Sunday, I thought about noise pollution and the neighbours. So decided against it and defrosted the fridge in the garage instead. I made the mistake of pulling it away from the wall. Why have I never done that before? Ten years worth of crud and the long lost bottle opener cum corkscrew I bought in Antigua, a very long time ago, in the days when I spent all my hard-earned cash on travel. 

Once the old fridge was sparkling like a new-un, I sat down to enjoy a glass of wine in the sunshine, the time our neighbour decided to start power washing. I should have mowed the bloody lawn!

Looking forward to gin and tonic tonight, but as it’s wet and blowing a howling gale, I won’t be enjoying it in the sunshine, and I won’t be mowing the sodding lawn.