It’s spring and I’m grumpy. Why? Because it’s warm and, much as I love warmth, it’s more stifling than warm when one only has merino woollies on hand. See, all my short-sleeved tops and non-merino clothes are up in the loft.
The loft. (Theme-music from Jaws.) Enter who dares.
Well, I’m going to have to dare, because I don’t fancy spending the next six months feeling like a sauna-on-feet. I did enough of that when I was pregnant.
The problem is – ‘doing’ the loft is easier said than done. First I have to make sure Mr Six isn’t around (he’d try to follow me up there). Ditto for The Destroyer (at 16 months she’s just discovered electric sockets and would no doubt jam a spoon into one while I was upstairs). Oh, and it has to be daylight – otherwise I’ll wake one or other of them – and, trust me, I absolutely don’t want to do that.
If by some strange twist of fate I do manage to find said opportunity, all I have to do is: a) find ladder; b) if no ladder, beg Beloved to return ladder from work; c) climb ladder, open manhole, turn on light; d) climb down ladder, open ladder to full height; e) re-climb ladder, enter loft; f) search for summer clothes bag, ensuring I duck to avoid roof and also stand only on framing (don’t fancy falling through ceiling); g) shift other very important boxes of stored whatevers to access clothes bag; h) heave bag over to manhole, toss out of loft; i) check for signs of damage (the bag, not me); j) turn off light; k) climb down ladder, reassemble ladder at half-height; l) re-climb ladder, turn off light, close manhole; m) climb down ladder; n) remove ladder to garage without denting freshly-painted walls.
Sounds easy, right?
And it is – until you realise you’ve returned the ladder to the garage but left the loft light on. Or pushed a down-light out of the ceiling when you tripped up and landed on it. Or broken your kid’s Christmas present. Or that family heirloom you’ve been saving.
But I’ve just thought of the perfect solution. No more loft-angst. I’ll just buy new clothes. (Dreamy expression on face.) New. Clothes. For me, even. Wow. Imagine it.
(Now I’ve just got to work out how to hide the Visa bills for a few months . . . )