A well-covered topic I know – but absolutely brand spanking new to me!

Who knew the house was so cold in the middle of the day (two jumpers, socks out of Hunters, tights under jeans)? This must be what it’s like to be old, at least I can sprint up the stairs to the loo or run across to the garage for a latte and work up a bit of a heat – although no running on the way back as that burns.  Last week I was allowing myself an hour at lunch time and half an hour at teatime to work in the garden, but that was obviously code for sunbathing and lollygagging as I am not queuing up (behind myself) to get out there this week.

Loving listening to radio again (on the telly at the moment as digi radio is away getting fixed) favourites at the moment are Woman’s Hour, You and Yours, Macaulay and Co., Movie Cafe and Tom Morton – I love Tom.  So much radio listening sounds as if I’m not working very much and that is just not true.

Time for another hot drink, the only things I’m any good at making are tea and miso soup and I’ve had both of those already.  Andy is amazing at milkeecoffee, but he is at work, proper out there work.  When I make coffee in the wee cafetiere, I even put the little woolly jacket round it that we got in Orkney from the North Ronaldsay seaweed-eating sheep – and it still tastes bleargh.

Have started trying to get a mention on various Radio Scotland shows, doing not badly at the moment, TM mentioned my nutty religious upbringing yesterday and I came up with an alternative  to the Anagram on Macaulay and Co. today which he kindly read out.  So that’s 2 out of 2 days since I started this particular form of not working.

I am in the process of convincing myself that listening to and participating in various radio shows whilst Twittering, and (occasionally) getting on with bits of proper work, is a replacement for my colleagues at work and the banter I had therewith.  I have come from an almost exclusively customer-facing environment, where I was either talking to a customer face to face, on the phone, or shooting the breeze with a workmate (unless it was a chef then I was shouting the breeze).

So I am a bit lost, not bereft by any means, but casting around for the new shape of my life, and more specifically my day.  I know that almost nobody makes a living by putting the washing on, jumping up to see what the postman (or the political party volunteer) has just put through the letterbox, or solicitously feeling the soil under previously neglected house plants.  But it’s a bit quiet, and I’m a bit jumpy and my business has yet to take off – so until it does, a little bit of Tom Morton goes a long way.

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