A day at work/ A day out in Manchester
7.59am (half term holidays, awake since 6.45)
I hate waking up to a kitchen full of unwashed plates and pans. Sticky pools of baked beans, congealed tomato sauce, rock hard rice mounds. As I scrap the wasted into the compost bin I try not to vomit. I wash the dishes and leave the pans and baking trays, I need to wake up to face the grease on those.
I quite like washing up. If you can get from beginning to end of a job without interruption then there is some satisfaction. I like dipping my hands into hot water and suds, staring out the window, wiping off mess, it reminds me of painting in reverse.
The weather is a wet grey miserable nothing, entirely uninspiring. My family may just have to kill each other inside this tiny house today. I am not a fan of the board game, but I love drawing and crafting and Syd is always content to jam a day away on his guitar, maybe there will even be some energy for baking, or a big game of hide and seek.
I spent yesterday in the studio, hugging my new radiator and getting lost in artists statements and job applications and wishing that I was drawing as opposed to writing. It was quiet and calm, the hours sped past.
Patrick kindly looked after the children for the day, they went day tripping in Manchester, chicken and chips for lunch, frogs at the museum, art at the art gallery, trying out instruments in the guitar shop and a selection of Indian sweets from the shop in Rusholme. They got back at seven, all of them exhausted, especially Patrick as Naoise had spent most of the day on his shoulders.
The evening was a disaster. Syd had a fight with me and Naoise about fish fingers and subsequently went on hunger strike. I shouted at Syd, then Patrick sloshed two bowls of tomato and red pepper soup all over the kitchen whilst burning his hand.
We all said sorry.