I had to take the day off work today. I wasn't ill, no... we had it sprung on us last night that the rewiring would (finally!) be done today.

You may not think that merits a day off. In most circumstances, where said employee isn't the head of household and head of household has no pressing engagements that day, it doesn't. I cleared all the space around my walls last night, thinking that would be adequate. This morning, half an hour before I was due to leave, the electricians showed up.

Apparently it wasn't enough. They needed to get under the bed as well. Urk. And so I had to delve into those Dank and Terrible Pits of Art Materials and Old Ringbinders Full of Crap, and essentially move everything out. Which meant I had to take the day off.

Then came the cherry on the cake. We were banished from the house, lest we get in the way of these Great and Awesome Electricians. So I spent the whole day lying in the grass in tatty jeans and a loose blouse, hair in a mess, staring at the sky and getting baked lobster-red by the sun.

I'd left Thelma on the couch in the living room; one of the few pieces of furniture I could leave her on. They put two dust sheets over everything so I was constantly fretting about whether she'd have enough air in there, and then there was the noise... Thelma can't stand my camera clicking, let alone people hammering and drilling and shouting all day.

She'd turn out to be fine. A bit shaken, but I'd later shower her with treats to cheer her up. As for myself, I had a pretty good time! The weather stayed beautiful and it was rather nice, just sitting there in the garden, bantering with Dad all day, or Andy when he popped round. It was nice having some time to think, after all the madness of being back in unpaid work.

I finally threw out my bed! I've been considering it for a while, as regular readers will know, and I saw yesterday, with my whole room being emptied, as the perfect opportunity.

Only... I don't have that super-handy under-the-bed storage space now. As of now, it doesn't exist. It is deceased. Expired. It is an ex-space!

... or is it only sleeping?

So I have nowhere to stick my art materials now. Or my vast archive of old stories and crappy drawings. These things are now festering at the bottom of my - ehem - mattress, where normally my books and vinyls would bask the room in their nerdy bohemian glow.

Perhaps I shouldn't have thrown out my bed. Um. Oops.

When the banishing order on my family was lifted and we were allowed to return to our house, I got changed, mildly reassembled my room (minus bed, which now waits to be stolen by scrappies from our back garden - I sincerely hope that doesn't happen) and went out to meet Jason for the Jam Night at the Duke of Cambridge. Which was the usual. Gossip from Anna, good music, being quizzed by Anna on what we had/hadn't done as a couple yet - and yes, she was talking couple stuff of the naughtier variety.

Whereupon I swiftly explained that we hadn't committed any bank robberies but I'll let you know, miss, when we do. And then I double-checked my secret stash of deadly neurotoxins.

And here I am! back home, on my mattress, feeling literally but not emotionally quite low (it's bizarre - the ceiling is so far away from me now!) and ready for bed. I mean mattress.

I can't actually say 'I'm going to bed' now. You know, since I don't actually have a bed any more.

Okay, people, I'm going to mattress.