Lovely New Year's Eve in Kent. The train ride was fun, and the dirty windows created a sepia look to the views. Even housing estates on the outskirts of Rochester took on a romantic appeal - although that could have been due to the alcohol still running through my veins.
All the decorations are down now, the vaccuum cleaner kindly agreed to work without complaint and there is a satisfying smell of Pledge dusting gunge in the air. The bath plughole has been enthusiastically plunged and once again the water creates a satisfying whirlpool as it disappears into the bowels of the earth. Having thumped the dishwasher heartily it spluttered back to life and is struggling to put that sparkle back into my dinner service (if its not pretentious to call crockery from Asda 'a dinner service'). I am trying to contain my excitement about the prospect of needing my sun glasses to protect my eyes from those laser beam glints you see on TV ads for 'Finish'. Beef is roasting in the oven, so its time to fling some fronds of the Christmas tree on the fire and have a well earned slump on the settee.
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