For the past three and a half days, I have been going through the maddening monotony of packing. It has been tiring, tedious and, at times, tear-jerking. I feel as if I have turned into an assembly line in some kind of ghastly, cardboard and unending nightmare factory of scissors, brown tape, marker pen and knackering decisions about what should go where.
What with that and the imminent Super Full Moon, I fear I may yet take leave of my senses altogether – and be found cavorting down the M5, on horseback, clad in little more than bells and whistles!
So, in order to escape from this maddening scene, I nipped down to the hairdresser in the village and had my mane re-oranged. Always a soothing process, I find.
Afterwards, I walked back home, hair still wet, motorists swerving to avoid the oncoming human Belisha Beacon – and found that those two hours away from the Dire Task had taken it down from maddening to merely slightly irritating!
Not bad, eh?